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V 







FIERY TRIALS, 




OR 


A STORY OF AN 


INFIDEL’S FAMILY 


BY / 

I. c:r 


REV. R. H. CROZIER 

SARDIS, MISS. 


SOLD ONLY BY SUBSCRIPTION. 



ROGERS& CO. PRINTERS, 315 MAIN STREET, 
less. 



COPVRIGHT-R. H. CROZIER— 1883. 


Errata. — 112 page 11th line from top read gate for grate. 


113 


3d 


i i 

•• 

<< 

choose for chose. 

115 

(< 

10 th 

<( 

(1 

bottom 

i i 

surprise for surprised. 

130 

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of the poetry 

i ( 

direct for desire. 

146 

(t 

10th 

line 

from bottom 

< 1 

last for least. ' . 

149 

i 

11th 

<% 


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it 

dank for dauk. 

195 

i< 

13th 



it 

1 i 

hypocrite for phyocrite. 

272 

(k 

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t 

top 

(( 

amenable for amendable. 

290 

n 

8th 



bottom 

( i 

were for was. 

316 


11th 




<{ 

laughingly for laughfully, 

381 

<( 

15th 

ii 

it 

top 

{4 

Jenyns’ for Jenyri’s. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. PAGE 

Scene in a ball room in the town of Holly Springs, Miss 5 

CHAPTER II. 

A visit to the Infidel’s family ; 23 

CHAPTER III. 

A conversation at the Infidel’s dinner table 35 

CHAPTER IV. 

A buggy ride with the Infidel’s two daughters-- a disaster 59 

CHAPTER V. 

A declaration 80 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Infidels at clnirch 94 

CHAPTER VII. 

;A mother’s distress iii 

CHAPTER VIII. 

iThe Infidel’s daughter and the preacher 130 

1 ' C H A P T E R I X. 

!A remarkable death 148 

1 C H A P T E R X. 

The Infidel’s daughter and the preacher again 170 

I CHAPTERXI. 

!A violent threat 185 

I CHAPTERXI I. 

Hard trials 205 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Bishop Joshua Soule preaches in Holly Springs — effects 223 

CHAPTER XIV. 

I The Infidel and the preacher — a controversy ^^- -241 

i C H A P T E R X V. 

lohn A. Murrell — a dark scheme 263 


IV. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


CHAPTER XVI. i^age. 

Disinherited, and away from home 281 

CHAPTERXVII. 

A narrow escape 3°^ 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A horrible murder near the Tallahatchie river 32* | 


CHAP T E R X 1 X. I 

The Bible in the jail of Holly Springs 344 | 

C H A P T E R X X. I 

Is the Bible authentic? 3^3 

CHAP T E R XXI. 

How Roger Barton defends an innocent man, who is condemn- 
ed to suffer death 382 

C H A P T E R X X I I. 

The death sentence . 407 | 

CHAPTER XXIII. I 

A marriage in the jail of Holly Springs— the bride suspected of j 
insanity 416! 

C H A P r E R X X I V. 

'I'he Supreme Court’s decision in the case of an innocent man. 424 
C H A P T B R X X V. ! ^ 

< I 

John A. Murrell appears in Memphis— a diabolical scheme ex- 
ecuted 436, 

C H A P T E R X X V I. j 

On the Murderer’s track 454' 

C H A P T E R X X V I 1. ' 

^lob Law - 467'! 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Startling Developments 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

The Murderers discovered 

CHAPTER XXX. 


484 

505 


511 


Denouement. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


CHAPTER I. 


Who is that, Milson, dancing with such 
elegance ?” 

That is a very indefinite question, Mr. Ber- 
tram, as there are a dozen or more on the floor, 
who are, in my opinion, dancing Avith elegance. 
Which one do you mean, and is it a lady or a 
gentleman?” 

1 mean that lady Avho is dancing with such 
supreme excellence. There is not another in the 
room equal to her. Why, she is as handsome as 
a picture, and her motions are simply perfect. 
She moves Avith the grace of a Goddess. Such 
eyes ! and such hair! She is the peer of Venus. 
Who is she?” And the speaker gazed at the 
beautiful girl Avith feelings of admiration depict- 
ed in every feature. 

^^Who is she? Tell me.” 

^WVell, I declare,” said Milson, ^^you are ex- 
travagant in your admiration. But you Avill have 
to be a little more explicit. Point out the one 
to Avhom you allude — the one Avho seems to have 


6 


FIERY TRIALS. 


made such an impression on your mind — and I 
will endeavor to enlighten you.” 

mean the one with the raven black hair and 
black eyes, and tall form. There is not another 
lady in the house like her. She is pre-eminent 
in beauty, grace and elegance. Why, your culti- 
vated taste ought to suggest to you at once whom 
I mean. She is dancing with Mr. Win. Jones.” 

‘M)h, yes,” answered Milson; ^Hhat is Miss 
Paine, Miss Egeria Paine.” 

‘‘Egeria ! bravo ! the name suits me. It ought 
to have been Juno or Venus.” 

••AVell,” said Milson, laughing, ‘‘her sister s j 
name is Juno, for a wonder.” 

^Tndeed ! well, that is strange. Here we have 
a nymph and a goddess in modern times. I hope 
the Goddess may be even superior to the spouse ' 
of old Jove. But never mind. Where do they 
reside. Tell me all about Miss Egeria. I could I 
wish that my name were Numa.” I 

^‘Upon my word,” said Milson, slightly color-* 
ing, ^dt seems that Cupid has not missed his 
mark.” 

Oh, pshaw !” answered Bertram, ‘‘I am a lover 
of beauty in any and all forms, especially in the 
form of a woman. Where is the man so phlegmat- 
ic that his finer sensibilities cannot be aroused by 
the charms of a nymph ? But I declare, Milson, 
Seriously, Miss Paine is the handsomest young 
lady I ever saw. Where does she live?” 

‘‘She lives three miles from town.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


7 


‘AVell, her family?” 

^Tler father is Col. Thomas Paine.” 

^‘What about him ? his profession ?” 

^^Well,” said Milson, “he is a large planter, 
owns more than a hundred negroes, and makes 
five or six hundred bales of cotton annually.” 

“So far, so good. What else?” 

I “Well, I don’t know, unless I inform you that 
^ he is an intelligent man, and a man of infidel 
' proclivities.” 

^ “Infidel?” 

“Yes, an Atheist. He believes there is some 
sort of indefinable force in the universe Avhich is 
the cause of all things. He says that man sprang 
from an oyster.” 

“Good !” exclaimed Bertram. “I am of that 
school myself, leaving out the oyster. I should 
hate to admit that my grand father was nothing 
but a stupid oyster. But still, if Col. Paine 
can establish the fact I will acknowledge my an- 
! cestry, even if they are oysters and monkeys. 

I The question which puzzles me is, who made the 
oyster ?” 

; “Col. Paine,” said Milson, “would tell you that 
' Force made the first oyster.” 

I “But,” asked Bertram, “what is force, and 
' how did it originate?” 

i “Force,” Col. Paine says, “is force, and that 
ends the matter.,’ 

“Does his daughter, or rather do his daughters 
hold to the same views?” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


‘T don’t know; I never talked with them on 
the subject.” 

“Soj you visit there,” said Bertram, looking 
searchingly into the face of his companion. 

^^Oh,” answered Milson, assuming an air of 
nonchalance, call there sometimes and chat 
with the young ladies awhile. They are good 
company.” 

^‘Yes? Where is Miss Juno? In the room ?” 

^*That is she, just in the rear of Miss Egeria. 
She is now raising a glass of water to her lips.” 

••'She does not resemble her sister at all.” 

‘‘No; but she is not ugly.” 

“Well,” said Bertram, “she is not horrible. In- 
deed I may say she is passable. But certainly 
she does not exhibit the grace and elegance 
which her sister does. And yet,” continued 
Bertram, after closer inspection, “she has a rath- 
er striking face ; a serious, thoughtful expression. 
She by no means belongs to the common herd.” 

“She is very intelligent,” replied Milson, “and 
something of a poetess.” 

“Save me from literary women!” flippantly 
exclaimed Bertram. “They always did appear 
to me to come under the head of anomalies.” 

“Well, I differ from you.” 

“You have a right to your opinion, and I shall 
not now attempt to combat it. Come, Milson, 
have the kindness to introduce me to the vouim 
ladies.” 

“I will with their consent.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


9 

course/’ said Bertram. would not 
push myself forward. I have no desire to form 
the acquaintance of the young ladies unless it is 
perfectly agreeable to them. I flatter myself, 
however, that they will not refuse the attentions 
of a friend of yours.” 

^^May he not/’ replied Milson, ‘T will soon 
see.” 

He left Bertram standing where they had been 
conversing, and advanced across the room to 
where the ladies were now sitting, the dance 
having temporarily ceased. We may here state 
that the occurences related in this chapter trans- 
pired in the town of Holly Springs, in the court- 
house, there being at the time our story begins, 
no town-hall nor any other place suitable for a 
hall. I suppose it is not necessary to describe 
this little city, as it may now be called, Avith 
any great particularity. It is situated in Mar- 
shall county, Mississippi, in the northern portion 
of the state. Whatever it may be now, it was 
once an old-fashioned town, built according to the 
model which was in vogue before the days of 
railroads and telegraphs and other improvements 
Avhich have characterized the latter half of the 
nineteenth century. Then no locomotive whistle 
aAvoke echoes Avhich had slumbered for ages in 
the hills and hollows that surrounded the town 
of Holly Springs. The stage-driver’s horn sent 
forth the loudest peals which at that day and 
time betokened the arrival of a public convey- 


10 


FIERY TRIALS. 


aiice. The stage was a huge carriage, generally 
painted red, capable of seating six persons with 
comfort. This was the style in which our ances- 
tors traveled when they discarded their own 
private conveyances. It was the stage with its 
prancing steeds, that brought out the inhab- 
itants, not to the depot, but to the post-office, to 
hear the news. The present generation will 
laugh at such a mode of transportation. But 
they were peaceful days,— halcyon days of inno- 
cence — when there were no collisions, and no 
deaths resulting from the downfall of long bridges, 
and from defective tracks and the like. Blessed 
days ! gone forever ! 

The town of Holly Springs peacefully nestled 
among the hills, some of which, being sandy, were 
considerably disfigured by deep gullies. It was 
modeled, as we have already hinted, after the old 
style of architecture, in regard to which, there 
seemed to be only one idea. There was what 
was called the public square, in the center of 
which, stood the court-house. This building, be- 
ing in those happy days almost the symbol of 
civilization, constituted the grand rallying point 
for the population of the country. Here the peo- 
ple assembled on court days, and muster days. 
Around this building, at a convenient and re- 
spectful distance, in the form of a square, stood 
tne storehouses, and other places of business. 
Eight streets stretched out from the public- 
square, on both sides of which stood the dwel- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


I 


ling houses. Coming into the town, along any of 
these streets, it Avas useless for the traveler to 
ask for directions. All the streets terminated on 
the public-square. 

We suppose the reader may form from this 
brief description a tolerably clear idea of the 
town of Holly Springs, where the author of these 
pages spent some of the happiest days of his life 
We Avill now resume the thread of our story. 

Before proceeding further, however, it may be 
advisable to give our reader at least a brief his- 
toiy of the two young men who are destined to 
figure conspicuously in these pages. 

Eugene Bertram had recently settled in the town 
of Holly Springs, and had hung out his ^•shingle” 
bearing in glittering letters the words, Attorney 
at LaAv. Whence he came, it matters not. He 
Avas as fine a specimen of physical beauty as one 
Avould Avish to see Plis mental attainments were 
also far above mediocrity. He Avas rather quick 
in his movements, and quick of speech, His 
Avhole manner indicated a Avell-bred, Avell-educa- 
ted man of the Avorld. As to his moral and reli- 
gious character, he Avas emphatically a man of 
the Avorld. Judging from his actions and con- 
versation, no one could have supposed that a se- 
rious thought in regard to eternity, ever found 
eA^en a temporary resting place in his head. He 
was an Infidel — an infidel rather from thought- 
lessness or innate depravity, than from f\ny 
settled conviction, resulting from a thorough in- 


12 


FIERY TRIALS. 


vestigation of the claims of Divine Truth. Yet, 
Bertram was regarded as a rising man. It would 
not be amiss to say that he was not at all igno- 
rant of his personal accomplishments. In fact, 
they made a deep impression on his mind, and 
inflated his heart with pride and vanity. Be- 
lieving himself to be a man of superior parts, he 
had the utmost confidence in himself and his 
abilities — a quality Avhich, however, is necessary 
to a lawyer — especially a young one. 

With such qualifications as these, it is not to 
he wondered at that he was a general favorite 
in female society — particularly that portion 
whose time was spent in the pursuit of pleasure. 
So he was considered among the fair sex what 
was called a catch.” Such in brief/ was Ber- 
tram. 

John Milson was a young man of about twen- 
ty-four. He had been born and reared in the 
town of Holly Springs, though he had received 
his education at Yale College. His parents had 
died when he was only a child. In consequence 
of this sad calamity, he was left to the guardian- 
ship and care of an uncle. The child was left in 
what we would call in the South, ^^comfortable 
circumstances that is, he was neither rich nor 
poor. 

Young Milson had chosen the profession of 
law, and at the time our story begins, had just 
received license to practice. We cannot say of 
him what we have said of Bertram. In many 


FIERY TRIALS. 


13 

respects, the two were almost antipodes. There 
was nothing particularly striking in the appear- 
ance of Milson. His natural disposition made 
him quite reticent in promigcuous company. 
Besides, he was rather bashful and awkward. 
It required time to discover his real character. 
Those who Avere not intimately acquainted Avilh 
him, mistook his inclination to shrink hack, for 
pride, or rather haughtiness. In mixed company 
he seldom had but little to say ; but he listened 
Avith an expression upon his face, of sad thought- 
fulness. At times, hoAvever, Avhen his feelings 
Avere deeply moved, he found a voice, and then 
he spoke Avith Avarmth and eloquence. Only a 
feAv Avere acquainted Avith the young man, and 
knoAv upon Avhat a solid foundation his character 
stood. He had no disposition to make a display 
of his attainments, by parading them before the 
public. The consequence Avas, he did not pass 
for his real Avorth. FeAV Avere acquainted Avith 
the fact that high and noble c[ualities Avere ob- 
scured by the young man’s disposition to shrink 
back from public notice. And such was the 
character of John Hilson. 

Though Bertram had been a resident of Holly 
Springs but a feAv Aveeks, yet Miss Egeria Paine 
had heard of him, and had seen him on the streets 
tAvo or three times. She Avas struck Avith his ap- 
pearance. She had cast more than one sidewise 
glance at the tAvo young men as they stood talk- 
ing in the ball-room. From their looks, she had 


FIERY TRIALS. 


14 

the vanity to suppose that her own beautiful self 
constituted the subject of their conversation. 
When, therefore, she saw Milson coming in the 
direction of her position, she at once divined his 
purpose ; and when he proposed to introduce 
Bertram, she assented with secret joy; and yet 
said, 

‘^Do you vouch for his moral character, John?’ 

Milson gave her a searching look. Miss Paine, 
laughed and repeated her question in a low tone. 
Milson still earnestly gazed in her face as if he 
did not exactly comprehend. 

^^Why, John, what makes you look at me so 
inquisitively? Did’nt you understand my ques- 
tion?” 

‘‘To he sure I did,” slowly answered Milson. 
^‘The truth is, I am not intimately acquainted 
with him. He has but recently removed to 
town. I cannot, therefore, shoulder any respon- 
sibility in the matter.” 

“Oh, well,” said the young lady, ‘introduce 
him; I’m not at all squeamish. He appears to 
be a gentleman.” 

Milson then turned sorrowfully away in order 
to comply with Bertram’s request. 

The object of Bertram’s admiration which was 
so emphatically expressed in Milson’s ears, was 
well calculated to arouse the ardor of anyone 
who could he attracted by mere external graces. 
She was admitted on all sides to be a beauty, 
and was the acknowledged “belle” of all the 


FIERY TRIALS. 


15 


country, includinj:^ the town of Holly Springs, 
along whose streets there never walked a fairer 
and more perfect form. The most fastidious 
critic could not point out a single corporeal de- 
fect or blemish. She was now in her twenty- 
first year, a picture of physical vigor and health, 
and presenting to the view queenly traits of ex- 
ternal character. As a matter of course she had 
many admirers. Among these none was more 
enthusiastic, as our reader has doubtless surmis- 
ed, than John Milson. For several years he had 
loved the ffiir Egeria with all the warmth of his 
nature. They had known each other from child- 
hood, and the young lady still persisted in calling 
the now grown man by his given name. Milson 
had dared to hint his passion to the object of it; 
hut he met not with the success which he so 
vehemently desired. Miss Egeria was too politic 
or too fond of admiration to reject him, even if 
his feeling was not partially reciprocated. What- 
ever may have been her actual sentiments toward 
the young man, she did not choose to commit 
herself. When Milson threw out hints as to the 
existence of the wild emotion which thrilled his 
heart, owing to his natural timidity, she found it 
quite an easy matter to practice evasion. The 
consequence was he was kept in a state of mis- 
erable suspense, which all understand who have 
irone throuo:h the same ordeal. This wretched 
state was destined soon to be intensified. A 
pang of jealousy shot through Milson’ s breast 


i6 


FIERY TRIALS. 


when he introduced the dashing, handsome Ber- 
tram, to the idol that had so long absorbed the 
noblest and tenderest feelings of his breast. 

The two parties met face to face, and Bertram 
acknowledged the introduction with an easy, 
graceful bow. There was not discoverable in his 
manner, the slightest perturbation, or the least 
indication of awkwardness. In his address he 
exhibited the coolest self possession imaginable. 

After the customary exchange of civilities, 
Bertram said : 

Are you engaged for the next set?” 

No, sir.” 

May I then have the pleasure of dancing 
with you ? ” 

Certainly sir; it will afford me pleasure.” 

‘‘ It has been so long,” said Bertram, since I 
have been in a ball-room, that I fear to dance 
with a person like yourself, who understands 
the art to perfection.” 

‘•Now come, Mr. Bertram, none of your flat- 
tery. You gentlemen seem to believe that ladies 
must be flattered to be pleased.” 

Miss Egeria said this with a gracious smile, 
which she meant to be bewitching, and which, 
nevertheless, betrayed the fact that she was de- 
lighted with the compliment. The smile was not 
lost on Bertram. [Oh, the power of a little smile 
under some circumstances.] 

‘‘ Upon my honor, Miss Paine,” replied Ber- 
tram, looking serious, “ I am not given to adula- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


17 

tion. 1 never saw more grace displayed on a 
ball-room floor, than was exhibited by yourself.” 

Perhaps,” said Miss Paine, with the same 
bewitching smile playing over her beautiful feat- 
ures, ^Las you say you have not been in a ball- 
room in so long a time, your taste may be a little 
deficient.” 

think,” said Bertram, I am a reasonably 
fair judge. To-night, it is true, is the first time 
I have been in a bail-room in five years, I believe; 
but prior to that time I was very fond of the 
amusement. I took lessons from the very best 
masters of the art, and I do myself the honor to 
assert, that in my opinion, I am not deficient in 
taste.’’ 

^^Y^ou have not been a resident of Holly 
Springs any great length of time ? ” said Egeria, 
in a tone of inquiry, endeavoring to change the 
topic of conversation. 

‘^Not very long — about two months, or may be 
not so long. It is strange,” said Bertram, with 
one of the most significant looks, of which his 
countenance was capable, that we have not met 
before. I have been the loser however, by the 
fict. Ho you reside in town ? ” continued Ber- 
tram speaking as if he had never heard of the 
young lady before. 

^^No, sir; we live two or three miles in the 
country. Sister and I only occasionally come 
in.” 

Y"ou have a sister, then ? ” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


Yes, sir; here she comes now. I will intro- 
duce you.” 

If you please,” 

Accordingly, as soon as Miss Juno Paine ap- 
proached, Miss Egeria said, Sister Junie, this 
is Mr. Bertram.” The parties bowed politely, 
and then the young lady passed on to another 
part of the room. 

She does not resemble you at all,” said Ber- 
tram. I never would have taken her for your 
sister,” said Bertram, with an emphasis on the 
word ^ your,’ which might mean a great deal, if 
the person addressed chose to put upon it the 
construction which was in the speaker’s mind, 
though he meant no disparagement to the younger 
lady. Miss Juno was now nearly nineteen years 
of age. 

^^We are unlike in many respects.” Then she 
quickly added, ^^sister Juno is much better than 
I am, Mr. Bertram.” 

She purposely left way open for the easy pas- 
sage of another compliment. But Bertram did 
not take advantage of the opportunity to pay 
homage to her dazzling beauty. He merely said, 

“ She has a classical name.” 

Yes, father is fond of classical names. He 
said that none of his children should ever have 
any of those horrid Bible names — like Rebecca, 
and Sarah, and Moses and Aaron.” But quickly 
checking herself, she said, perhaps you are a 
believer in the Bible, Mr. Bertram ?” And she 


FIERY TRIALS. 


19 


gave him a look in which he detected a slight 
foreshadowing of regret on her part, in case he 
should answer in the affirmative. Bertram was 
a shrewd man, and he determined to discover 
what impression he was making. It is said that 
straws show which way the wind blows;” and 
in discovering the nature of a lady’s sentiments 
toward himself, Bertram was very quick to find 
even the smallest straws.” So after a brief 
pause he said with feigned seriousness. 

The Bible is a good book. Miss Paine.” 

The young lady looked confused, and a slight 
blush passed over her face which made her ap- 
pear all the more lovely, at least in Bertram’s 
eyes. He seemed to enjoy her confusion, but 
he appeared to be well satisfied with this little 
ruse, which he had not the slightest idea the ob- 
ject of it would detect. He was correct in his 
estimation of the young lady’s character. Miss 
Paine had never met before just such a schemer 
as the man who was now conversing with her. 
She looked really disappointed. But Bertram 
at once came to the rescue. 

Well, seriously, Miss Paine, I consider your 
insinuation almost an insult to my intelligence.” 

''Why?” She asked looking at him inquiringly. 

"I should have a poor opinion of my intel- 
lectual abilities if I believed in the silly nonsense 
of the Bible.” 

"Why,” said the young lady brightening, "did 


20 


FIERY TRIALS. 


you not say just now that it is a good book ? 
You contradict yourself.” 

Begging your pardon, I say not at all. It 
is a good book in some respects. In some parts 
of it I admit there is good advice. But the his- 
torical portions of it are simply absurd. I con- 
cede that Jesus Christ was a good man, and that 
most of his precepts are not destitute of merit ; 
but the idea of his being a God is just preposter- 
ous : and this is what I meant by ‘silly non- 
sense.’ I hope I have made myself understood.” 

“ Yes, I accept your explanation. But to tell 
you the truth, Mr, Bertram, I have never read 
it. I can’t say on my own personal knowledge 
whether it is a good or a bad book. I don’t like 
the ways of Christian people ; because they are 
opposed to all amusements. They would never 
have us laugh. The only objection I have to 
my mother, whom I dearly love, is that she is a 
Christian, Her religion makes her gloomy. 
These church people want us to go with our 
heads bowed down, and want us to put on long 
faces as if we expected every day to be the last, 
I don’t want any such religion as that. My motto 
is, if I am correct in the Latin, dum vivimus, 
vivamus.” Miss Egeria appeared to be well 
pleased with the manner in which she had de- 
livered this little speech. Bertram cried out: 

‘‘Bravo! I heartily approve of your sentiments. 
The present is all we have, and we would be the 
veriest simpletons to trouble ourselves in regard 


FIERY TRIALS. 


21 


to our state after death when we have such slight 
data on which to base an opinion. But they are 
ready to dance.” The music struck up, and gay 
young ladies and young gentlemen began to whirl 
in the mazes of the dance. We will not tax the 
reader’s patience by detailing further conversa- 
tion that took place in the ball-room between Miss 
Paine and Bertram. Egeria was delighted with 
her partner. She thought in her heart that two 
kindred spirits had met. When they parted that 
Thursday night it was understood that Bertram 
had permission to call at her house on the follow- 
ing Sabbath. 

Sunday” she said -'is a big day at our house, 
Mr, Bertram. We do not remember the Sabbath 
day to keep it holy. Christian people call us 
very wicked” she said with a laugh ; but father 
does not believe in gloom and horror. We try to 
pass the time pleasantly at our home.” 

I shall be delighted to form the acquaintance 
of your father, and to be with persons whose 
views are similar to my own.” Bertram saw Miss 
Paine wdth her sister to their carriage. Then 
they parted mutually pleased. Egeria thought 
that Bertram was decidedly the most handsome 
ofentleman she had ever met in all her life. Take 
him altogether he was far superior to §,ny of the 
beaux that had bowed at her feet. Thus she was 
thinking as the carriage rolled homeward. All 
who have passed through the ordeal of loye, and 
few have escaped, know what a pleasingly pain- 


22 


FIERY TRIALS. 


fill wound the golden arrow inflicts. No other 
arrow can produce such throbbing, thrilling suf- 
ferings, of which the victim would not be reliev- 
ed for the world. Alas ! Miss Egeria, whether 
she knew it or not was hopelessly smitten. Here 
was a case of ^dove at first sight.” So the hours 
between Friday and Sunday morning dragged 
heavily by. 

The intervening time was spent more disagree- 
ably by none than John Milson. 

“Of all 

Our passions, I wonder nature made 

I'he worst, foul jealousy, her favorite; — 

And if it be so, why took she care 

That everything should give the monster nourishment ? 

And left us nothing to destroy it with.” 

Poor Milson was held fast in the clutches of 
the ‘^yellow fiend.” He had observed closely 
what took place in the ball-room, and that which 
he saw converted him into a miserable young man. 
His former state of suspense was bad enough ; 
but now the WTetched youth had to stagger un- 
der a sort of ^‘Ossa piled upon Pelion.” He was 
filled with gloomy forebodings. He was anxious 
for the next Sabbath to dawn ; and yet he dread- 
ed its developments. Alas! poor foot-ball for 
Cupid and the ^^green-eyed monster!” 


CHAPTER IT. 


“ Hail Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man’s day. 

The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe 
The morning air pure from the city’s smoke, 

As wandering slowly up the river’s bank, 

He meditates on Him whose power he marks 
In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough, 

And in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom 
Around the roots : and while he thus surveys 
With elevated joy each rural charm. 

He hopes, (yet fears presumption in the hope,) 

That heaven may be one Sabbath without end.” 

Such is the hope of many a one bowed down 
with care and sorrow. Blessed day ! day of rest ! 
type of that eternal rest which is promised only 
to the pure in heart. 

It was the hoi}’ Sabbath ; and the sun rose in 
dazzling splendor, and poured forth floods of light 
on the little city of Holly Springs. To some it 
was to be a day of ^Tun and frolic, ’’and they were 
preparing to indulge in day-light dissipation 
from the mildest to the lowest grade. To others 
it was to be a day of mere corporeal rest; and they 
turned over in their beds for another nap. To 
others, the few we regret to say, it was a day giv- 
en up to spiritual devotion. To all classes it was 
to be a day which would bring them nearer to ^ 
the shores of eternity. 


24 


FIERY TRIALS. 


After a while the church hells began to send 
forth their solemn peals inviting the people to the 
house of prayer Some gave heed to the invita- 
tion; and soon many little children were wend- 
ing their way to the different churches where 
they were to receive instruction in regard to Him 
who said suffer the little children to come unto 
me.” 

About 9 o’clock Bertram took his seat in a 
buggy and rapidly drove out of the little city. 
A three-mile drive brought him to the front of a 
large old-fashioned farm-house. Everything about 
it, however, presented an appearance of comfort ; 
and the person who entered the spacious rooms 
with their elegantly carpeted floors, could not but 
feel that the owner was capable of dispensing 
a magnificent hospitality. 

Bertram knocked at the door, and was shown 
into the parlor by a servant. In due time Miss 
Egeria made her appearance, looking as radiant 
as all her skill, which was now called into requi- 
sition, could make her. She extended such a 
welcome to her visitor as sent through his frame 
a thrill of delight, and made him feel that he was 

master of the situation.” His vanity whisper- 
ed that he could win this charming creature if he 
chose. We may here say briefly, by way of ad- 
vice, that it is highly necessary to all transpar- 
ent young ladies to study the art of giving 
opaqueness to their emotions that they may not 
too easily betray the most tender feelings that 


FIERY TRIALS. 


25 


belong to human nature. Egeria was one of the 
transparent kind who could be read without much 
difficulty by such a one as Bertram. 

am glad you have come Mr. Bertram,” she 
said. Without company we generally have a 
lonesome day.” 

shall be highly gratified, Miss Paine, if I 
can be at all instrumental in preventing such a 
misfortune as that. I know something of the 
feeling of which you speak; especially have I had 
a rather sad experience in this respect since I 
came to Holly Springs. I find here so few con- 
genial spirits. On Sundays I have been compell- 
ed to devote the hours to reading,” 

^^That ought to be a pleasant way to kill time” 
said Egeria seeming to forget, or not to notice 
that the w^ord ^^ought” which she had employed 
disclosed the fact that she was not devoted to 
reading. 

^^So it is,” replied Bertram; ^ffiut one becomes 
tired of incessant reading. I often want some 
one to talk to, who can enter into my feelings and 
sentiments — some one who is capable of leaving 
the dull earth and mounting to those untrodden 
heights where angels bashful look. I would rath- 
er be alone than to associate with people whose 
thoughts plod along on the ground, and never rise 
above the level of their heads. Ugh! odi pro- 
fanum vulgus et arceo.” 

This was all very pretty talk; but Bertram 
was not telling the strict truth. If he had been 


26 


FIERY TRIALS. 


as transparent as the young lady to whom he was 
speaking, she Avould have discovered under this 
polished exterior as great sensuality as ever de- 
graded a human soul. He had read novels and 
poems about the more elevated regions of purity; 
but he knew nothing of such regions from his own 
experience. He never soared up there on his 
own wings. 

I am afraid,” said Egeria, ^^that you are too 
sentimental for us common people, Mr. Hertram.” 

*^^00 you not like to read ? ” asked Bertram. 

^^Oh, yes, when I can get interesting books and 
magazines. But sister Junie is the book- worm 
of the place. She spends most of her time in the 
library. She reads the works of the old philos- 
ophers and poets. If you Avere to go in the li- 
brary now, just as apt as any other way you 
would find her poring over that horrid old Virgil 
Avhich I never could endure at school. I plodded 
along through, because I had it to do. But sis- 
ter seems to like the old heathen.” 

At this Bertram laughed. 

expect I will have to call sister to ascend 
Avith you to the ^heights Avhere angels bashful 
look.’” 

Egeria had an object in vieAV in making this re 
mark . 

cannot suffer you,” said Bertram quickly, 
^To do yourself such gross injustice. I am but 
too happy in your company, and Avould regret to 
interrupt your sister in her intellectual employ- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


27 


merit.” Egeria looked pleased on the utterance 
of the last sentence. She was on the point of 
saying something when she looked through the 
window and discovered John Milson approaching 
in his buggy. She felt inward vexation. Under 
ordinary circumstances she would have been 
pleased with MilsoiTs company; but to-day she 
had hoped that he would not put in an appear- 
ance. What must she do? Her plan was soon 
formed. Sister Junie must come to the rescue, 
and must take charge of Milson to-day. She felt 
sure that Junie would not like much to do this, 
but thought that she might be induced by mo- 
tives of politeness and civility to come into the 
parlor. In a moment she said, 

see Mr. Milson coming. If you will excuse 
me I will notify sister.” Then she went straight 
to the library where she found Junie as usual, 
engaged in reading. 

‘^‘Sister,” said Egeria hurriedly, do wish you 
would lay aside your books for one day, and 
come into the parlor and entertain John Milson.” 

^^Did he ask for me ?” 

^^No but there is no impropriety in your com- 
ing without being asked for. It is nobody but 
John Milson, and I know you don’t care a fig for 
what he may think. Will you go?” 

^^Well, for your accommodation I will. It is 
no pleasure to me though.” 

know that; but Mr. Bertram called to see 


28 


FIERY TRIALS. 


me to-day, and I don’t want to be troubled with 
John.” 

The two then entered the parlor. Egeria 
spoke very cordially to Milson who had come in 
while she had gone after her sister. But she im- 
mediately took her seat near Bertram. At this 
the ^^green-eyed monster” gave John a stroke 
which produced a sensation that caused the 
young man to feel his heart sinking. He was 
not master of himself. Suspense and jealousy 
were conjointly producing in his^frame a feeling 
that seemed to make his blood creep with-un- 
healthy sluggishness along his veins. He wished 
himself away; he wished that Bertram were in 
the bottom of the sea; he wished that Egeria 
were subject to the same pangs which he was 
now sutfering : he wished that he were an old 
Buddhist who had attained to the happy state of 
Nirvana in which it is impossible for the ‘^yellow 
bend” to pierce the heart; he wished that he 
had never been born; he wished that he were an 
angel, at least temporarily, hovering over Egeria, 
if he could only cause her for awhile to tread the 
thorny path of unrequited love. What strange 
and clashing thoughts rush through the minds of 
people who are goaded on to desperation by the 
‘^green-eyed monster.” There are many trouble- 
some passions in the human breast. 

“Yet is there one more cursed than they all, 

That canker-worm, that monster, jealousy. 

Which eats the heart and feeds upon the gall, 


FIERY TRIALS. 


29 


Turning all love’s delight to misery. 

Through fear of losing his felicity.” 

It would be difficult to enumerate all the 
strange, wild wishes that followed each other in 
rapid succession through the harrowed bosom of 
John Milson as he sat on his chair in a state of 
confused anguish. His inward perturbation man- 
ifested itself in his very face. The glaring of the 
fierce fires of a smothered volcano could be per- 
ceived above the crater. Poor John felt as if he 
could rush out of the room and fly to the utter- 
most parts of the earth. To a strong man, like 
him, earnest in his devotion, such a feeling is too 
intense to be portrayed by human language. 
Egeria could not but observe the cloud which was 
passing over Milson’s face, and she thought she 
divined the cause, and she really pitied him; and 
yet she felt proud that her own lovely self had 
reduced him to this miserable state. Bertram 
noticed it ; but he was too well-bred to appear to 
do so. Miss Junie, having thus far escaped all 
the shafts of the celebrated ^ffilind God” was an 
utter stranger to such a storm of wild emotions 
as were now surging through the heart of John 
Milson. There he sat pensive, moody, and silent. 
Junie looked innocently at the young man, and 
perceiving that he did not wear his usual expres- 
sion, she said, 

^^Are you not well, Mr. Milson?” 

^^Oh, yes— well, no, not exactly — quite well, I 
thank you.” 


30 


FIERY TRIALS. 


“Why, Mr. Milson, how strange you talk! You 
say you are well, and not well in the same 
breath.” 

“Did I ? You misunderstood. I said I am 
well, perfectly well. I never enjoyed better 
health in my life.” And then he relapsed into 
silence, hardly treating the young lady with civil- 
ity. Egeria and Bertram were talking and laugh- 
ing as if no one else were present. “Oh jealousy! 
“Thou wondrous yellow fiend !” 

Presently Junie said, 

“I have been troubling my brain over a pass- 
age in Horace, which I confess I do not under- 
stand very well.” 

“Horace?” said Milson with a little start; “he 
is well” 

“Why Mr. Milson, how you talk ! what is the 
matter ?” 

“Matter?” Nothing in the world. I told you 
that Horace is well, in answer to your question.” 

“Why, he is not even living,” exclaimed Junie 
opening her eyes in astonishment. 

“Not living? You must be mistaken; I met 
him yesterday, and he appeared to be well.” 

“Why, Mr. Milson! are you perfectly dement- 
ed ? You know that Horace died more than 
eighteen or nineteen centuries ago; and still you 
affirm, with seriousness that you met him yes- 
terday. How ridiculous! what is the matter?’^ 

“Upon my word !” said Milson, “I thought you 
inquired after your friend Horace Townsend.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


31 

^^Why no ; I did no such thing. I spoke ol 
Horace the Latin poet.” 

‘Tlease pardon my absence of mind,” said 
Milson making an effort to restore his equilibrium, 

was thinking of something else. What was it 
you said ?” 

H forgive; but I want you to help me out of 
a difficulty. I have found a passage in Horace 
which I do not exactly understand.” 

^‘Well, let me see it. I will do the best I can; 
though I have paid little attention to the classics 
since I left college.” 

will get the book” she said, and immediately 
left the room. She went into the library and in 
a few moments returned to the parlor where Egeria 
and Bertram were chatting away, seeming to be 
oblivious of all earthly surroundings. They ig- 
nored the very existence of Milson, who, during 
the brief absence of Junie, was in a ^ffirown 
study,” and gazing gloomily through the window 
into the forest that stretched out in front of Col. 
Paine’s residence. The young lady approached 
with the open book and pointed to a passage in 
one of the odes. Milson looked at the open page 
for a moment, and then began to translate aloud, 
and continued till he finished the entire ode, and 
then asked. 

Where is the difficulty. Miss Junie?” 

There is none now,” she replied, ^^your ad- 
mirable rendering has removed it. Will you have 
the kindness to read some more ?” 


32 


FIERY TRIALS. 


The request was a relief to Milson as it gave 
him an opportunity to recover himself. So he 
began, and read ode after ode translating so cor- 
rectly and elegantly that Junie listened as if en- 
tranced. At last Milson closed the book. 

Then Miss Junie said, 

I declare, Mr. Milson, you ought to be pro- 
fessor of Ancient Languages in some College. 
There is no doubt you would soon become famous.’ 

At this point Miss Egeria cried out, 

^AYhat book is that Junie, over which you and 
John seem to be so deeply interested ?” 

^VITorace,” she replied. 

^^Oh, Horace,” exclaimed Miss Egeria. 
would about as soon read the Bible.” 

Than she broke into a little merry laugh. 
^Mohn,” she said after a moment ‘^do you like 
those old heathen poets ?” 

•‘To be sure he does” quickly answered Junie : 
“he is as familiar with Horace as you are with 
Robinson Crusoe and Gulliver’s Travels.” 

Junie said this with a laugh, by which she 
meant no disrespect at all. 

“I own up,” replied Egeria. “I have no par- 
tiality for dead languages, and dead things gen- 
erally.” 

“Mr. Bertram,” suddenly exclaimed Junie, 
rising up and approaching him with the opened 
book “please afflict my sister by translating this 
short ode.” 

Bertram took the proffered book, and looked 


FIERY TRIALS. 33 

on the page for two or three minutes, and then 
said, 

don’t believe I can translate it without the 
aid of a Lexicon,” 

^‘Lexicon ? Why Mr. Milson read for half an 
hour without a Lexicon, and without hesitation.” 

Bertram made no reply at once, and seemed to 
be at a loss for an answer. Yet he betrayed no 
emotion or vexation at the remark which she did 
not intend to be cutting or offensive. It may 
have been a little rude, but she spoke with child- 
ish innocence. Egeria gave her sister a ^^cross- 
eyed” look. John, though he did not overrate 
himself, could not help but feel just a little grate- 
ful to Junie for instituting this comparison in 
which he appeared to advantage. Yet the thought 
was somewhat painful, that while his classical 
superiority to his rival might elevate him in the 
estimation of Miss Junie, it would not have the 
slightest weight with the one around whom gath- 
ered all the affections of his heart. How he 
Avished that Egeria had Miss Junie’s fondness for 
the classics. Presently Bertram said to Junie, 
do not pretend to be a classical scholar ; 
and besides I have little time to devote to litera- 
ture of any sort, as my attention is almost wholly 
engrossed with the laAV. I beg therefore that our 
friend Milson will comply with your request.” 

^^Oh, never mind,” said Junie taking the book 
which Avas politely held out, ^Sve will dismiss Mr- 


34 FIERY TRIALS. 

Horace for the present.'’ Then she returned to 
her seat. 

We will not weary the reader with further de- 
tails of the conversation of these young people 
on that Sabbath morning as they sat in the ele- 
gant parlor of Col. Paine. Bertram rattled away 
with the easy carelessness of a man who had been 
accustomed all his life to fashionable society. It 
was no trouble to him to make himself agreeable. 
In this respect he was far superior to Milson who 
knew not how to get off the pretty nothings 
which serve to kill time among young people. 
His consciousness of deficiency in this regard 
made his awkwardness more apparent in female 
society. Some of the young ladies of the more 
thoughtless class voted him a down-right boor, 
because he had such a small stock of silvery non- 
sense. There seemed to be only one with whom 
Milson cared to converse ; and of course that 
one was Miss Egeria Paine who was too light- 
headed to appreciate his worth. If John had 
not been so hopelessly smitten he could have 
perceived that Junie was her superior in all the 
elements that make up the true woman’s charac- 
ter. But, alas ! the little ^‘blind boy” had ob- 
scured his vision. Egeria’s very faults appeared 
to him as amiable graces, or to say the worst, as 
lovely and becoming frailties. Anyhow John 
Milson loved to madness, and under such circum- 
stances as were calculated to drive him to 
despair. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


35 


A mighty pain to love it is, 

And ’tis a pain that pain to miss ; 
But of all pains, the greatest pain 
Is to love, but love in vain.” 

Alas ! poor John Milson. 


CHAPTER III. 

Miss Egeria Paine had given commands to the 
cooks to prepare an elegant dinner, not that she 
was excessively addicted to delicate viands; hut 
she desired in every possible way to make an 
impression on the mind of her visitor. For this 
purpose she had determined to make use of all 
the resources, both of a physical and intellectual 
character, that the place afforded. She seemed 
to be acting on the presumption, whether it was 
well-founded or not, that the sight of a goodly 
meal, enhances, in the estimation of a hungry 
man, the value of the woman who has had even 
the general superintendence of it, or by whose 
order it was gotten up. Alas! people who are 
in love, young or old, do have a great many 
thoughts, which are called foolish by those who 
have emerged from that condition, or whose an- 
ticipations have been gratified, or whose tender 
sentiments have been chilled by the stubborn 


FIERY TRIALS. 


36 

storms of life. Old people must not forget that 
they were once young, and were guilty of many 
little acts of folly. Anyhow Miss Egeria had 
ordered the cooks, to do their best; and in conse- 
quence of this order they had been busy all that 
Sunday morning. About half past twelve o’clock 
the result of their efforts was announced. Col. 
Paine then went into the parlor where he receiv- 
ed an introduction to Bertram. As this gentle- 
man is to occupy a prominent position in our story 
it may be well here to give him such notice as he 
deserves. 

He was a rather tall man with dark hair 
and eyes. A mere glance discovered the striking 
resemblance between Egeria and her father. The 
Colonel [and he was called Colonel because it was 
the fashion in the South at that time to honor 
every man with some sort of military title who 
made a goodly number of bales of cotton) had 
advanced considerably on the downward slope of 
time. Though he was really between fifty and 
sixty years of age, yet a careless observer would 
not have taken him to be much over forty-five. 
Time had handled him with tenderness. There 
was an uneasy, unsatisfied expression on his face, 
such as is seen in all men who hold to the views 
which he advocated. Our reader has already had 
a hint as to the character of these views. There 
is certainly nothing in the principles of Atheism 
to make a person look, much less to feel happy. 
Such a one is on a stormy sea in a leaky ship 


FIERY TRIALS. 


37 

without rudder or coinj)M.ss. The darkness of 
night settles around him. While he is dashed 
amid the breakers no light-house is in view. 
There is no objeetive point to which he may steer 
his sinking ship. The storm rises and rages around 
him, and he is like a mere little cork on the waves 
tossed and driven he knows not whither. Turn 
in what direction he may, all is Egyptian uark- 
ness. Not the first ray of light straggles through 
the clouds. Not the slightest glimmering of hope 
relieves the blackness and horror of the lowering 
tempest. Under no circumstances can he find a 
grain of comfort in his principles. Especiall}" in 
the death chamber is Unbelief powerless to offer 
consolation. Listen at the wild, despairing, yet 
eloquent wail of Robt. G. Ingersoll as he stood 
over the corpse of his brother, himself performing 
the only obsequies that his principles would al- 
low. He said: 

^‘My friends, I am going to do that which the 
dead promised he would do for me. The loved 
and loving brother, husband, father, friend died 
where manhood’s morning almost touches noon, 
and while the shadows still were falling toward 
the west. He had not passed on life’s highway 
the stone that marks the highest point; but being 
weary for a moment, he lay down by the way- 
side, and using his burden for a pillow, fell in 
that dreamless sleep that kisses down his eyelids 
still. While yet in love with life and raptured 
with the world, he passed to silence and pathetic 


38 


FIERY TRIALS. 


dust. Yet after all it may be best, just in the 
happiest, sunniest hour of all the voyage, while 
eager winds are kissing every sail, to dash against 
the unseen rock, and in an instant hear the bil- 
lows roar above a sunken ship; for, whether in 
mid-sea or ’mong the breakers of the farther 
shore, a wreck must mark at last the end of each 
and all, and every life, no matter if its every 
hour is rich with love, and every moment jeweled 
with a joy ; will at its close become a tragedy as 
sad and deep and dark as can be woven of the 
Avarp and woof of mystery and death. This brave 
and tender man in every storm of life was oak 
and rock, but in the sunshine he was vine and 
flower. He Avas the friend of all heroic souls. 
He climbed the heights, and left all superstition 
far beloAV, Avhile on his forehead fell the dawning 
of a grander day. He loved the beautiful, and 
Avas Avith color, form and music touched to tears. 
He sided Avith the Aveak, and Avith a Avilling hand 
gave alms. With a loyal heart, and with the 
purest hand, he faithfully discharged all public 
trusts. He Avas a worshiper of Liberty, a friend 
of the oppressed. A thousand times have I 
heard him quote the words: ^ For justice all 
place is a temple and all season summer.’ He be- 
lieved that happiness was the only good, reason 
the only torch, justice the only Avorshiper, human- 
ity the only religion, and love the only priest. 
He added to the sum of human joy, and AA-ere 
every one for Avhom he did some service to bring 


FIERY TRIALS. 


39 

a blossom to his grave he would sleep to-night 
beneath a wilderness of flowers. Life is a nar- 
row vale between the cold and barren peaks of 
two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond 
the heights. We cry aloud, and the only answer 
is the echo of our wailing cry. From the voice- 
less lips of the unreplying dead there comes no 
sound ; but in the night of death hope sees a star, 
and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing. 
He who sleeps here, when dying, mistaking the 
approach of death for the return of health, whis- 
pered with his latest breath T am better now.’ 
Let us believe in spite of doubts, dogmas, and 
tears and fears, that these dear words are true of 
all the countless dead. And now to you who 
have been chosen from among the many men he 
loved, to the last sad office for the dead, we give 
his sacred dust. Speech cannot contain our love. 
There was, there is no gentler, stronger, manlier 
man.” 

Thus talked Robt. G. Ingersoll in the presence 
of death. While we admire the beautiful utter- 
ances, we cannot envy him on account of his 
principles, which could afford not a ray of com- 
fort or hope in the hour of trial. We pity the 
man. Wnile standing ^ffietween the cold and bar- 
ren peaks of two eternities,” striving in vain to 
peer through the surrounding darkness, crying 
out, and receiving as answer only the mocking echo 
of his own trembling voice, we would tell him and 
his sympatizers, that a ^^still small voice” can be 


40 


FIERY TRIALS. 


heard by the ear of faith even above the din of 
life’s storms, uttering the cheering words in the 
accents of weeping love: ^T am the Way, the 
Truth, and the Life.” There is nothing in the 
principles of Unbelief to produce a happy look. 
So Col. Paine did not wear a happy look. He 
was an infidel — an infidel from native depravity. 
He loved vice in some of its forms, and this love 
made him hate the Bible which required him to 
restrain his evil passions. He was decidedly a 
sensualist. Y^et he was no dwarf in intellect. 
He had read and studied much, and still kept up 
his studious habits. He claimed to be related to 
Thomas Paine the celebrated infidel. Hence the 
^^Age of Reason” was one of his fiivorite books. 
We will do him the justice to say that he was 
master of the usual arguments that are adduced 
against Christianity. He was a man of easy ad- 
dress and agreeable* manners ; and he was very 
fond of popularity. Hence he had considerable 
influence in his neighborhood, and also in the towni 
of Holly Springs. To say that his influence had 
a bad effect on all who came within its scope, 
would be nothing more than a legitimate expec- 
tation. At least some of the young men were led 
astray by his pernicious doctrines. They looked 
up to him as their leader, and they delighted to 
follow in his footsteps. Col. Paine also took 
pleasure in having followers. Hence he let no 
opportunity slip that could be made to promote 
the cause of infidelity. ^^His life” he said, “was 


FIERY TRIALS. 


41 


a better argument than any words he could use. 
The God of the Bible had made many promises 
to the so-called Righteous and many denuncia- 
tions against the wicked. Yet” he said, ^‘in spite 
of all these magnificent promises, we. see that the 
Righteous do suffer. Now, here I am a Avicked 
sinner; I do not worship the Christian’s God; 
and still I am prosperous ; I never had a serious 
misfortune in my life. Notwithstanding all the 
harsh things which the Bible says in regard to 
the ungodly, I am not cursed. If so I am un- 
able to perceive or feel it. I deny the existence 
of the Christian’s God. Now if there is such a 
being, and he has made all these threats against 
the wicked, why does he not execute them ? 
Why does he not strike me down in my high- 
handed Avickedness, and thus show that he is not 
trifling Avith mankind ?” 

Thus Avould Col. Paine talk. The statements 
Avhich he made seemed to the unreflecting portion 
of his hearers to be sustained by facts. For no- 
body could deny that ^‘inany are the afflictions of 
the righteous.” Col. Paine’s own career, accord- 
ing to his OAvn affirmation appeared to be guided 
by the hand of prosperity. He enjoyed good 
health, and he possessed an abundance of the 
world’s goods. Therefore those Avho looked only 
to this little earth could not dispute his asser- 
tions. If they did he Avould not have to go far 
to find a practical illustration in the form of some 
good and pious man Avho Avas suffering all the 


42 


FIERY TRIALS. 


hardships of poverty and the pangs of disease. 
The consequence was there was a vein of poison 
in the public religious sentiment of Holly Springs 
and vicinity. 

Col. Paine, viewed merely on the outside did 
not appear to be a bad man. No one could ac- 
cuse him of any crime or any violation of the 
civil law. He did not appear to drink to excess. 
Nobody could say therefore that he was a beast- 
ly sot. His profanity did not manifest itself in 
the ordinary “slang” oaths in vogue among the 
less refined classes of society. He seemed to 
have no relish of slang phrases of any sort. So, 
he passed for a polished gentleman 

Col. Paine had the tact to make it appear in 
every controversy that he was acting on the de- 
fensive. He would never seem to be the aggres- 
sor, if he could possibly avoid it. He thus ap- 
peared to have no desire to obtrude his infidel 
sentiments on any one. Yet he was so shrewd 
that he would lead the conversation in such a way 
that he would appear to be drawn out. Then, 
when he had said all that he wished, he would 
add “this controversy is not of my seeking.” He 
tried to put himself in the attitude of the perse- 
cuted party, well knowing that if he could place 
himself before the community as a persecuted man 
it would add strength to his cause. 

Such was Col. Paine — a fair-spoken, smooth, 
oily man. 

•‘With smooth dissimulation skilled to grace — 

A devil’s purpose with an angel’s face.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


43 

After the introduction of Bertram and Col. 
Paine, and the customary exchange of civilities, 
the parties advanced to the dining room, Milson 
having to escort Miss Junie, to his inward vexa- 
tion. In the dining room Bertram was introduced 
to Mrs. Paine. Bertram took his seat at the table 
by the side of Miss Egeria — a circumstance which 
caused another keen pang of jealouvsy to pass 
through Milson’ s love-smitten heart. The ^‘green- 
eyed monster” seemed to follow him like an 
avenging Nemesis. The young man did not have 
much appetite. The ‘^yellow fiend” appeared to 
be working on his very liver, and promised soon, 
if this state of things continued, to turn him over 
to the disciples of Aesculapius. 

The parties paused a moment after they had 
taken their seats, preparatory to paying their i*e- 
spects to the elegant dinner which smoked before 
them. Col. Paine said with politeness, 

“If I knew that you were a Christian, Mr. Ber- 
tram, I would request you to invoke a blessing 
on Svhat we are now about to receive.’ ” 

Though this was said with civility ; yet there 
was concealed sarcasm under it, 

“I am no Christian” quickly replied Bertram, 
with a laugh, and looking at Mrs. Paine, “I never 
expect to be.” 

“Then, Annie” the Col. said to his wife “you 
may as well proceed to help our plates. We will 
have to dispense with the blessing unless John 
will favor us with a short grace.” He said this 


44 


FIERY TRIALS. 


as a. mere pleasantry. But to the astonishment 
of all present Milson said, 

‘‘Yes, if you please.” 

All looked sober and surprised, and then gazed 
at their plates, waiting for John to begin. Mil- 
son looked around in utter amazement, Then 
after a momentary pause Col. Paine said, 

“Proceed, John, if you please.” 

j\Iilson with a face as red as scarlet cried out, 

“What do you all mean ?” 

All broke into a laugh except Mrs. Paine who 
was in wardly grieved at such mockery and irrev- 
erence. 

“We ware wailing” said the Col. “for you to 
say grace for us.” 

“Grrace ?” exclaimed Milson; “did you ask me 
to say grace ?” ' 

“Certainly I did; and I thought you were go- 
ing to comply with my request. We were wait- 
ing for you to begin.” 

“I misunderstood you” answered John still 
blushing to the roots of his hair. “But you would 
better say grace yourself I think,” he continued, 
scarcely aware of what he was saying, so fast 
was he held in the clutches of the “green-eyed 
monster.” Col. Paine looked at him with an 
amused expression, and Avas about to make some 
reply when Bertram said, 

“You do not seem to be much of a Christian 
yourself, Colonel?” 

“Not much,” he answered now turning his at- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


45 

tention to Bertram who had thus drawn him out. 

do not go through the form of worship which 
my neighbors do.” 

^^May I ask then,” said Bertram ^‘if you have 
any regular system of worship ?” 

‘^Why, yes. In my way I worship nature. I 
do not bow down my knees to show her rever- 
ence. Nature is not a God so exacting that she 
delights in the genuflections of her subjects. She 
requires no servile flattery of that sort, and no 
corporeal degradation of her creatures. This 
worship, as the Christians call it, is dictated by 
cringing fear.” 

At this Bertram quickly glanced at Mrs. Paine 
who was now doing the honors of the table. She 
caught his eye, and a deep blush spread over her 
features. The Col. continued : 

will not sacrifice the dignity of manhood, 
and my independence and my liberty by bending 
the knee to any being. I read nothing in the 
book of nature which requires such slavish 
homage. It is the Bible which insists on the 
cultivation of the grace of humility, which 
grace I think is the vice of cowardice. Nature 
teaches us nobler principles. She tells us to go 
with head erect, and to fall in the dust before no 
one. I say no grace over my food, because I 
work for it and honestly obtain it. Therelore I 
am not under obligation to any God. If I have 
any one to thank it is myself.” 

^AVell, Colonel” said Bertram, am of your 


FIERY TRIALS. 


46 

way of thinking. I never did believe in worship- 
ing a kind of God that is the mere creature of the 
human imagination. It does seem that if there 
is such a being as Christians worship, he ought 
sometimes at least, to visit this terrestrial ball of 
ours, and come in visible form, and thus place 
his existence beyond all dispute. If he has 
promised to protect the righteous, he ought to 
make good his promises. I am acquainted with 
some righteous people who are the most misera- 
ble beings in the w’orld ; and on the other hand 
I know some who are called wicked that really 
enjoy life. Why should we have a religion that 
only makes us miserable ?” 

Quickly Egeria looked at her mother’s bice. 
Mrs. Paine sat still in painful silence, not daring 
to say a word. 

Miss Egeria then said, ‘That is what I say Mr. 
Bertram. I don’t want a religion which is full of 
gloom.” 

“Now come, Mr. Milson,” suddenly cried Ber- 
tram, “let us have your voice. Is there a God 
or not?” 

Milson was a little out of humor with himself 
and everybody else. He was just a little pro- 
voked. So his pent-up feelings at last found 
vent and even relief in utterance. He would 
place himself in antagonism to Bertram at all 
hazards. The “yellow-fiend” had produced any- 
how a strange kind of feeling towards his rival. 
So he was in a condition to talk with emphasis 


FIERY TRIALS. 


4; 

when he did start. His embarrassment seemed 
all at once to leave him. 

^^Mr. Bertram,” he said slowly and solemnly 
while Mrs. Paine gazed at him searchingly and 
wistfully, believe there is a God.” 

“You mean a Force?” interrupted Bertram. 

“That is it, John,” said Col. Paine also, “just 
simply a Force — a power. That is your meaning.” 

“No, sir,” exclaimed Milson with an emphasis 
that brought all parties to a listening attitude, 
“I mean just exactly what I say. I believe there 
is a personal God in the universe. You may ap- 
ply the term ^Force’ if you will : that is another 
name for the same thing. That Force, if you 
prefer the name, is in my opinion an intelligent 
Power. That Torce,’ I think, has conscious ex- 
istence, and is endowed with thought and will. 
That power you call ‘Force.’ I prefer the desig- 
nation God. I believe that God is the Creator of 
all things. It was His plastic hand that formed 
the skies and the earth. From His hand fell the 
beautiful worlds above us, like showers of glit- 
tering gems. All that grand panorama over our 
heads is no work of chance, and no product of 
blind thoughtless force. I have only to look at 
my own body to convince myself that there is a 
personal God — ^a Divinity that shapes our ends.’ 
“That hand” he said dropping his knife, “that 
hand exhibiting such a beautiful adaptation of 
means to ends, is no effect of chance. The eye, 
so delicately organized, is not the mere outgrowth 


FIERY TRIALS. 


48 

of gradual development and improvement. That 
sweet flower” said John pointing to a vase of 
roses on the table, ^^diffusing its grateful fragrance 
through this room, that flower so delicately paint- 
ed, that flower exhibiting such rich and gorgeous 
hues, did not just happen to spring into exis- 
tence ; nor did it come into being by a happy, 
fortuitous combination of circumstances attribu- 
table to the laws of Nature. Who made this 
metal ?” he asked holding up in his left hand a 
silver fork. ‘‘Do you believe that Force without 
intelligence did it? No : that is the work of a 
personal God. Why all the philosophers of earth 
with the accumulated wisdom of ages, and with all 
the resources that science aflbrds cannot make a 
single blade of grass. Am I then to believe that 
the whole earth, to say nothing of the number- 
less worlds that float in illimitable space, was 
formed with its streams, oceans, mountains, hills 
and vales, and was clothed with beauty and 
verdure, by some indefinable force destitute of 
thought, feeling and intelligence? My very rea- 
son revolts at such a conclusion.” 

While John was thus speaking Mrs. Paine could 
not repress her tears. One little ray of hope at 
last broke through the thick gloom which had for 
so many years overshadowed her pathway. She 
tried with all her power to conceal her emotion ; 
but the crystal drops noiselessly chased each oth- 
er down her cheeks. It was the first time for 
many long, cheerless years she had heard a word 


FIERY TRIALS. 


49 


spoken for God in her house. She thanked John 
in her heart ; and would have risen from her 
place, and put her hands on his head and blessed 
him ; but she dared not. 

‘^But, Mr. Milson” spoke up Bertram, ^Svho 
said that this Force was blind, thoughtless, des- 
titute of intelligence ?” 

‘^Whenever,” replied John, ‘‘you admit that 
Force, as you call it, has intelligence, you at once 
surrender the question and abandon your position; 
for you certainly have the conception of a per- 
sonal God.” 

“No, not a personal God ; but not a blind 
Force subject to no law.” 

“Well,” said Milson, “do you say that Force is 
endowed with intelligence ?” 

“I say that force acts in obedience to law” 
quickly responded Bertram who was somewhat 
like a drowning man catching at straws. 

“That only removes the difficulty one step 
farther back,” answered Milson. “For then you 
make the law a personal being.” 

“No,” said Bertram, “Not a personal being.” 

“Well, what then? What is law?” 

“Law” said Bertram with some hesitation “is 
merely the mode of doing things.” 

“You speak of ‘doing things,’ who or what is 
the Doer?” asked Milson. 

“The doer is a combination of Force and Law’’ 
answered Bertram.'^ 

“Where is the thinking power in this combi- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


50 

nation? You say it is not in the Force, and not 
in the Law, where is it then?” 

Bertram hesitated as if at a loss how to an- 
swer the question. 

“Now, Mr. Bertram,” cried Junie with a pleas- 
ant laugh “you seem to be driven to the wall.” 

Bertram was too well-bred to manifest the vex- 
ation which he really felt. But at this point 
Col. Paine spoke up pleasantly. For he thought 
a great deal of John Milson, and really admired 
the way in which he had just acquitted himself. 

“Why, John,” he said “have you become a 
Christian?” 

“No sir; I have not.” 

“Do you believe in the divine origin of the 
Bible?” 

“No sir; I ^cannot say that I do. To tell 
the truth, I have never investigated the claims 
of the Bible. That is not the question now 
at issue. Whether there is a particle of 
truth in the Bible or not, my leason teaches me 
that there must be, — that there is a personal God. 
I can no more get that idea out of my mind than 
I can ignore my own existence. Why, in the 
very denial of the being of a God, you are bound 
to have the conception of a God — a personal God 
in your mind.” 

“Not I, Mr. Milson,” quickly spoke up Bertram 
who was not altogether satisfied with the part 
which he had played in this brief controversy, 
and who was looking for some loop-hole of escape 


FIERY TRIALS. 


51 

through which he might beat an honorable retreat, 
if he could not gain a victory. 

^‘Not I, Mr. Milson ; I say that I have not the 
conception of any personal God in my mind.” 

^^Well” said Milson with deliberation, ^^sup- 
pose we grant that you have not, will you be so 
kind as to tell me what caused the universe?” 

have already told you it Avas force under the 
control of law.” 

‘AVhat did you understand me to say is the 
cause of the universe ?” 

understood you to say a personal God.” 

^‘Well, Avhat did you understand me to mean 
by a personal God ?” 

^AVhy you said” replied Bertram, ^‘a conscious 
personal being endowed Avith intelligence and 
poAver.” 

^Tf that be so” answered Milson, ‘Voii have 
the very same conception of a God in your mind 
that exists in mine, or you could not have used 
Avords to define the conception.” 

^^There, Mr. Bertram” cried Junie ‘^you are 
caught again.” But Milson not seeming to no- 
tice the interruption continued, speaking loudly, 

^Tn spite of men’s denial, the very idea of a 
personal God is interAvoven Avith the very fibers 
of their mind. They may have vague notions, it 
is true ; but if they are endowed Avith ordinary 
intelligence they cannot divest themselves of the 
idea that there is a great, superintending cause by 
Avhatever name they may designate that cause. 


52 


FIERY TRIALS. 


They may apply the pronoun It or He; but the 
conception is in their minds in spite of them.” 

^^But that conception” said Bertram, ^^does not 
establish the existence of a personal God.” 

^‘You said Mr. Bertram, that you had no con- 
ception of a personal God. I think you are bound 
to admit now that you have. Well, not to spring 
a new question, I will say that the conception 
shows the natural tendency of the human mind 
to attribute the work of creation to some sort of 
personal intelligence. It is difficult to suppress 
the idea of a Being.” 

Bertram made no reply. Even Col. Paine 
with all his fondness for controversy did not care 
to continue this discussion. Not that he felt 
Alilson Avas any match for him. But he evidently 
perceived that he would have to make a more 
elaborate effort than he cared about making at 
that particular time. So he merely said, 

‘T Avill lay a Avager, John, that in less than ten 
years you Avill be a preacher.” 

haA^e not the remotest idea of such thing, 

sir.” 

^^But, suppose, John,” said Mrs. Paine Avith 
timidity ^^you should hereafter feel it your duty 
to preach.” 

^AVell, ma’am” Avas the reply, ‘*if I ever should 
become a Christian, and should feel convinced 
that the path of duty runs in that direction, I 
shall not hesitate. In spite of ridicule I shall 
folloAV my convictions of right.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


53 

Mrs. Paine s.'iid no more; but from her heart 
she silently sent up a. petition that this young 
man who seemed to be ^hiot far from the king- 
dom of heaven,” might yet be a herald of the 
Cross. 

^‘Well, John,” said Col. Paine with a laugh, 
do not often go to church ; but when you get 
ready to preach, I will hear your first sermon, if 
I am in reach of you.” 

“We will get him up a large congregation, 
won’t we?” said Bertram, who was now glad of 
this opportunity to withdraw from a discussion 
which made him appear to such disadvantage. 
He noAV plainly perceived that he had underrated 
Milson’s intellectual abilities. Under that awk- 
ward exterior and reticence he discovered that 
there was a logical mind of no ordinary power. 
Even Col. Paine was somewhat surprised at the 
young man’s fluency. 

It is said, with much truth, that circumstances 
make the man. There are thousands of persons 
who have lived and died in obscurity who were 
capable of doing great -things. But the state of 
things which existed in their day and generation 
was not adapted to their mental peculiarities. 
Hence no occasion ever called them forth to act, 
and they passed from the stage Avithout attract- 
ing the least attention. We frequently accuse 
such persons of a want of energy, Avhen in fact 
their inactivity is to be attributed to a lack of ad- 
justment of circumstances. 


54 


FIERY TRIALS. 


^Tf ever I get to preaching” said Milson in an- 
swer to the remarks of Col. Paine and Bertram, 
made in polite mockery, shall be glad to have 
you as a part of my audience.” 

At this point Bertram very adroitly changed 
the topic of conversation. He introduced subjects 
with which he was more familar than the exis- 
tence of a personal God. After a little the din- 
ner was finished, and the young people retired to 
the parlor to amuse themselves as they might think 
proper. 

‘‘Leaving them for a few moments we will call 
the reader’s attention to a party with whom he 
has only a very slight acquaintance: and that is 
Mrs. Paine. Poor lady ! she had a hard time in 
this world. Surrounded with all the comforts 
and luxuries Avhich wealth could procure, she was, 
nevertheless a miserable woman. In the days of 
her girlhood she had given her hand and her 
heart to Col. Paine, whom she loved with all the 
tenderness of a pure woman’s nature. She had 
been trained up by pious parents in the nurture 
and admonition of the Lord. Col. Paine, during 
the happy days of their courtship made no allu- 
sion to his infidel sentiments, if they were at that 
time fully developed. He was too politic to re- 
veal his religious principles at such a time, if 
they were not orthodox. He was rich, handsome 
and well-educated; and seemed to be perfectly 
devoted in his attentions to the idol of his heart. 
When with impassioned fervor he made known 


FIERY TRIALS. 


55 

his love in beautiful language, what more could 
she desire ? She could not but predict for her- 
self a life of unalloyed felicity with such a man 
for a husband. 

It is a blessed thing for us that Ave cannot raise 
the veil of the future, and foresee the path which 
we are destined to tread. W e would be paralyzed 
into sluggish stupor, or would rise up in active re- 
bellion and endeavor to prevent the occurrence of 
the events which our foresight would reveal. As 
a proof of the assertion, we have only to revieAv 
the scenes of life that rise up from the rubbish 
of memory as fixed, sad, unchangeable realities. 
If we had it in our power we Avould ^Toll back 
the tide of time,” and Avould give it such a direc- 
tion that Ave would escape the commission of 
many a deed Avhich is noAV written doAvn Avith 
an iron pen on the pages of the past, and we 
Avould substitute many a deed unperformed, in 
regard to which Ave can only Avhisper in the se- 
cret sadness of our soul ‘fit might have been.” 

‘‘Foreknowledge only is enjoyed by heaven ; 

And, for his peace of mind, to man forbidden ; 

Wretched were life, if he foreknew his doom : 

Even joys foreseen give pleasing hope no room. 

And griefs assur’d are felt before they come.” 

They Avere married and Mrs. Paine Avas happy. 
For a year after their marriage Col Paine made 
no objection to going to church Avith his Avife ; 
but still he said nothing about his infidel creed. 
When she urged upon him the claims of religion 
as a personal matter he merely laughed ; and she 


FIERY TRIALS. 


56 

thought him like the rest of mankind, only 
careless and disposed to procrastinate. But in 
the course of time he politely refused to accom- 
pany her to church any more. When she asked 
him to assign a reason for his refusal he gave her 
a cross answer that went like a jagged arrow 
through her heart. She said nothing more to him 
on the subject; but attended chnrch alone. Thus 
matters went on till Egeriamade her appearance in 
the world. When they were selecting a name for 
the child, then it was that Col. Paine began to 
discover his true character. His wife wished to 
call the infant just plain ‘‘Mary.” 

“No,” he said sternly, “I have made up my 
mind that no child of mine shall ever wear a 
name which is to be found in the Bible.” 

“Why?” she asked, while a fearful suspicion 
crept into her mind. 

“Because” he said “ that book is nothing in 
the world but a tissue of falsehood. It is an 
imposition on the human race, I will not honor 
the vile production by perpetuating the names of 
its characters.” 

“Why, my dear husband!’’ she cried in utter 
anguish, “is it possible that you are an unbeliever 
to such a dreadful extent as that? ” 

“Dreadful, indeed ? ” he said with a sneer. “I 
am surprised that any one can have so little sense 
as to believe such a string of ridiculous absurdi- 
ties as runs through that book from beginning to 
end.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


57 


Mrs. Paine Avas deeply affected. She was 
afraid of her husband : that is, having found out 
his violent temper she feared to arouse it. So 
she had to submit Avithout a murmur. 

Well does the Apostle say ^‘be not unequally 
yoked together AAuth unbelievers.” It is good 
advice authorized and sanctified by the Divine 
Mind. Let a Christian Avoman surrender herself 
to an infidel in the capacity of a wife, and she 
may as Avell bid adieu to happiness so far as this 
Avorld is concerned. So Mrs. Paine found it. 

Their second daughter Col. Paine said should 
be called ^Muno.” Mrs. Paine offered a feeble 
objection on the ground that the name Avas lack- 
ing in euphony. 

‘Tf a celebrated Goddess’’ he said, ‘^could bear 
it, certainly an earth-born child should not be 
ashamed of it.” 

The Avife again had to submit. 

The Colonel Avas anxious that his son should 
bear the name of the man Avhom he so much 
admired, and to Avhom he claimed the honor of 
relationship by the ties of consanguinity — Thomas 
Paine, author of the ^‘Age of Reason.” But he 
Avould forego that pleasure, because the name 
^‘Thomas” occurred in the Bible. So he named 
the boy 'T^omulus.” This lad at the time our 
story begins, Avas about sixteen years of age. 
These three Avere all the offspring of the Avedded 
life of Colonel and Mrs. Paine. 

When Miss Gerie as Egeria Avas called for 


FIERY TRIALS. 


58 

.short, was old enough to talk, then the Colonel 
forbade his wife’s going to church ; and more, he 
forbade her to teach their child the Christian re- 
ligion. Then he burned up every Bible which 
he could find about the house. What was the 
poor woman to do in the hands of this strong and 
violent man? She was the ^Sveaker vessel,” and 
was not at all disposed to contend for her rights. 
With sadness she yielded for the sake of peace. 
When there was nothing said by her in regard to 
religion, not a note of discord jarred the atmos- 
phere of their home. But she could not be happy. 
She felt that she was failing to confess her Lord 
and Master before men. This thought like a 
horrid vulture preyed on her vitals and caused 
her frequently to institute a comparison between 
herself and Judas Iscariot. So the poor lady 
lived on in silent sorrow. She dared not com- 
plain. She saw her children trained up in the 
awful belief of their fiither, and she could not 
enter a protest. She frequently reproached her- 
self for not discharging her duty in spite of op- 
position : but she trembled at the thought of 
engaging in a contest with her husband. She 
saw her darling children taught to believe that 
there is no God : she saw them apparently in the 
road to Eternal Ruin, and she had not strength 
to prevent their destruction. Well then did the 
Apostle WTite for the good of all ages Be not 
unequally yoked together wdth unbelievers.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


59 


CHAPTER IV. 

When the young people had been in the parlor 
a short time, and the conversation began to flag 
somewhat, Beriram thought it would be a de- 
cided relief to take the young ladies out riding; 
and he made a proposition to that effect. To 
this proposition Miss Gerie gladly consented. It 
was so much more pleasant, she thought, to carry 
on a conversation as the buggy rolled along 
through the forest. The scenes bordering the 
roadside would tend to stimulate one’s colloquial 
powers. Besides, she would be alone with Mr. 
Bertram, and there was no telling what he might 
say. We must do Gerie the justice to say that 
this was an ill-defined thought — -just a sort of little 
ripple on the surface of her mind, which scarcely 
attracted her own notice. She had too much 
self-respect to seize on the flashing thought and 
give it distinct shape, or to let the little ripple 
become a huge wave. But the plain truth is she 
was perfectly infatuated with the superficially 
brilliant Bertram, who managed to pass for a 
great deal more than he was worth in an intel- 
lectual point of view. Even on so short an ac- 
quaintance she was ready, (if the reader will par- 


6o 


FIERY TRIALS. 


(Ion us for telling it] to listen to a proposal which 
she was in hopes, and which she believed, he 
would make. This was the unvarnished truth in 
regard to the matter. 

There was no course for Milson but to offer 
Miss Junie a seat in his buggy. He did not at 
all fancy the situation: but he could not ex- 
actly control circumstances. 

Junie had been so much absorbed in her books 
for the past three or four years that she had 
never really thought about what relation there 
might be between her sister and John Milson. 
It had never occurred to her that Milson had the 
same tender sentiments toward Egeria, that Miss 
Gerie had toward Bertram — in reference to all 
of which she seemed to be as thoughtless as a 
child. Mr. Milson had been for a long time a 
friendly visitor at their house — a sort of play- 
fellow of Gerie’s ; and that was about the extent 
of her thoughts concerning this important matter. 
Whether the reader may think it strange or not 
she was perfectly ignorant of the ^Tender passion” 
herself; therefore she was not quick to detect it 
in others. She Avas not acquainted with the 
symptoms. It did not, consequently occur to 
her that, so tar as a buggy ride Avas concerned, 
Gerie’ s company should be any more agreeable 
to John Milson than her OAvn. So Avhen Milson 
made the proposition to go riding, though it Avas 
done Avith a rather bad grace AAdiich did not 
escape the notice of Miss Gerie, she very readily 


FIERY TRIALS. 


6i 

assented. If she had had more experience she 
would have rejected it with maidenly indigna- 
tion She.would not have imposed her company 
upon any one who really did not want it. But 
Miss’ Junie was in blissful ignorance: she was 
as unsuspicious as a child, and had no idea that 
Milson’s heart was thumping and fluttering like 
a poor bird in a cage beating and bruising itself 
against the bars in the vain effort to find a place 
of egress. 

In a few inoinents the parties ware seated in 
the two buggies and were traveling in the direc- 
tion of Holly Springs. 

When they had fairly started Junie said, 

^^That was a brave speech you made at the 
dinner table, Mr. Milson.” 

^•Why?” asked John. 

^^Because it was the first time I ever heard 
any one oppose father’s notions to his face. I 
was surprised that he did not get into a hot dis- 
cussion with you. But you completely silenced 
Mr. Bertram. I was glad of it too, because I 
think he is so full of self-conceit.” 

‘Ms that your notion in regard to his character, 
Miss Junie?” asked Milson, manifesting a con- 
siderable degree of interest. 

“Why certainly it is. I could not but think 
of the verses which I have read somewhere, 

“ This self-conceit is a most dangerous shelf, 

Where many have made shipwreck unawares ; 

He who doth trust too much unto himself, 

Can never fail to fall in many snares.”- 


62 


FIERY TRIALS. 


In your discussion with him I noticed that he 
fell into several snares. He is so full of vanity 
that he cannot conceal it.” 

^'Miss Gerie,” said Milson slowly and with 
hesitation, ^^seeins to be fond of his company.” 

Junie thought nothing of this remark which it 
cost Milson an effort to make. 

^^Oh, yes, sister does seem to like him” she 
said, not thinking that the word ^‘like” might 
have, under some circumstances, a deep signifi- 
cation. The little word caused a sensation in 
Milson’ s breast. 

^^liut, Mr. Milson,” she exclaimed changing 
the subject, don’t know but you have convert- 
ed me to your opinion as to the existence of a 
personal God.” 

^‘Do you hold to your father’s views ?” 

’^Well the truth is” replied Junie ‘‘I have nev- 
er seriously reflected on the subject, and I have 
never read the Bible. Father has always told 
us that it is the work of men who desired to take 
away our rights and liberties. He says there is 
no God ; and that all we have to do here is to 
enjoy life : and that when we die there is an end 
of the matter. I rather like his notions [Oh ! 
Miss Junie ! how deep and dark is the depravity 
of the human heart!] and opinions, because they 
leave me free to do as I please. But I find that I 
have in my mind the conception of a personal 
God, as you so clearly proved to Mr. Bertram that 
he had. I had never thought of the matter with 


FIERY TRIALS. 


63 

any seriousness till to-day. But the mere con- 
ception does not satisfy me ; I want to know of 
his existence just as I know my own.” 

‘Tt seems, Miss Junie” said Milson slowly, 
^That cannot be. Why, I do not know. But yet 
occular demonstration, according to my way of 
thinking, is not necessary to establish the belief 
in the existence of a personal God. You see 
that piece of machinery,” he continued taking 
out his watch, ‘^you see that piece of machinery 
with its little wheels and springs, and you see 
that it has regular motion by which we are en- 
abled to ascertain the hour of the day. Now can 
you believe that these wheels made themselves, 
or were made by some blind force, and were ar- 
ranged by some unthinking power so as to cor- 
rectly mark the seconds, minutes, and hours?” 

^‘Of course I cannot,” said Junie. 

^Tt is evident” continued John ^That some 
thinking being constructed it — a being that had 
a definite purpose in his mind.” 

^^That is true,” replied Junie. 

^‘There cannot be” said John ^^a design with- 
out a designer : there cannot be an efiect without 
a cause. Well now, if this little watch proves 
so clearly that it had an intelligent maker, is it 
possible to believe, that this vast world with its 
beautiful adaptation of means to ends, and with 
its arrangements for the comfort and happiness 
of all living creatures —this world which is a 
thousand times more complicated than a watch, 


FIERY TRIALS. 


64 

sprang into existence as an effect of blind force ? 
The world must have had an intelligent Creator. 
I am hound by my own reason to believe it. I 
can no more doubt it than I can doubt that I am 
alive at this moment. That Creator is a person- 
al, intelligent Being.” 

‘T see the force of your reasoning” said Junie 
^*and I cannot deny the correctness of your con- 
clusion. But this conclusion is not altogether 
satisfactory, Mr, Milson. I want to know some- 
thing more about God than his bare existence.” 

^‘There comes the trouble,” said John. 

^^Can you find out nothing more about God 
than what you have said?” asked Miss Junie 
showing by her manner that she was deeply in- 
terested in this conversation. 

^‘The book of Nature perplexes me,” replied 
John thoughtfully. ^^The leaves, like the Sib- 
ylline oracles, seem to be scattered, and I cannot 
find precisely what I want. I can read in the 
pages of that volume, however, that God is a 
Being who has. a most exquisite and perfect taste. 
That is displayed in whatever direction we may 
turn. It is shown in the azure sky studded with 
twinkling stars, and in the forest with its mag- 
nificent array of trees and brilliant flowers. 
Then I arrive at the conclusion, also, that he is 
a Being of goodness from the fact that there are 
ample provisions made for the happiness of all 
living creatures.” 

‘‘This is true” said Junie as some glimmerings 


FIERY TRIALS. 


65 

of light were now beginning to break into her 
mind, ^^but there is something else I would like 
to know.” 

^^What is that ?” 

‘T can hardly tell : but I should like to see a 
Being, who is so powerful, refined, and good. 
Where does he reside ?” 

‘‘Now, Miss Junie,you puzzle me,” said Milson 
pleasantly ; “I am not preacher enough to tell 
you.” 

“Preacher!” exclaimed Junie. “I have seen 
preachers, but never talked with one. Can they 
tell me all I want to know about God ?” 

“Why, Miss Junie, is it possible you have 
never been in a church, and never heard a ser- 
mon ?” 

“I have never been in a church in my life,” 
she said. “Father would never let us go. I 
have no idea what a sermon is.” 

“Well, Ido declare” answered Milson laughing, 
and talking to Miss Junie as if she were only a 
child, “I did not think there was anybody in jill 
this broad land living in such a state of ignorance 
as that.” 

“I am just that much behind the times,” re- 
plied Junie in a tone which indicated that she 
was not very much pleased with Milson’s last 
remark. In a moment she added, “I do wish I 
could go to church just once and hear a sermon. 
Sister Gerie went several times when father did 
not know it. I asked her about it, but she said 


66 


FIERY TRIALS. 


they had such a dull time she did not want to go 
any more. So, I have never had much inclina- 
tion to go. But if the preachers can answer 
such questions as I want to ask in reference to 
the God, who, I am now constrained to believe, 
does exist, I am sure I should like to meet them, 
and talk with them. But if you have heard 
them, Mr. Milson, why can’t you answer my 
questions ?” 

^‘Now you puzzle me again. Miss Junie. See 
here” suddenly exclaimed John, ^‘if you say sol 
will take you to church some Sunday, and let 
you see and hear for yourself. What say you ?” 

‘‘Oh,” she cried eagerly “nothing would afford 
me more pleasure. Let us go the very next 
Sunday?” 

“Very well,” said John. “But will your father 
consent for you to go? ” 

“I suppose he would not. I will not ask him. 
He needs not know where we are oroinsr.” 

o o 

“We will go next Sunday then.” 

As soon as Milson had said this he regretted 
it. The image of Egeria came flashing into his 
mind. He thought he would be willing to go with 
her to church or anywhere else. But he had 
placed himself in such a position that he must 
lose the pleasure of her company next Sunday. 
It was too late to retract what he said without 
being downright rude to Miss Junie. He could 
not withdraw his own proposition, without either 


FIERY TRIALS. 


67 


betraying the secret of his heart or assigning a 
reason which was not true. 

\^hat a strange thing is human nature ! Here 
was Milson commiserating the ignorance of this 
innocent young girl, while he with his superior 
knowledge was in a very little better condition 
than she was. He had been to church often ; he 
had heard many a sermon ; and yet he seemed 
to know but little about the true character of 
God. He had never read the Bible in such a 
way as to derive benefit from it. While he had 
a horror of Atheism, yet he himself was nothing 
more than a Heist. He knew not the God of the 
Bible ; and he really needed instruction as much 
as did the young lady at his side. 

Presently he said, 

^•Miss Junie, you have met Avith Christians, of 
course ? ” 

^^Why yes ; I have often met Avith people said 
to be Christians. Some feAv of my acquaintances 
say they are Christians. Several times they have 
said I ought to do better; but I did not under- 
stand them. The most of them appear to be just 
like all other peoyjle. I find them in the ball- 
room, and all other places Avhere 1 go, and they 
talk just as anybody else. But Avhy do you ask?” 

thought probably some of them might have 
told you something in reference to God.” 

^^No. I never asked them.” 

••But did none of them ever say anything to 
you in regard to religion ?” 


68 


FIERY TRIALS. 


‘‘Well, I met old Mrs. Bangor one day in Holly 
Springs, who began to talk to me about heaven, 
and the tears commenced streaming down her 
cheeks. She said something about Jesus and 
salvation. But the old woman talked in such a 
way as led me to believe she Avas a little crazy 
or at least fanatical. She Avas suffering so 
AAuth rheumatism that I thought her mind to he 
someAvhat affected. I have heard persons say 
that she Avas a good Christian. But she dif- 
fered from all others Avith AAdiom I have met. I 
came to the conclusion that the church Avas some 
sort of society Avhere they met to amuse them- 
selves.” 

^AVell,” said John, looking at her Avith surprise; 
^•but it is no use to talk. When you go to church 
next Sunday, you can see for yourself.” 

As John said this they reached the suburbs of 
Holly Springs. They drove in silence through 
the toAvn on the other side of Avhich Avas one of 
those deep gullies Avhich Ave have already men- 
tioned. The road ran AAuthin a feAV feet of the 
edge of this gully Avhich Avas at least forty feet 
deep. Bertram’s horse suddenly took fright at a 
flock of geese just ahead in the road, and he com- 
menced backing. The buggy Avas now almost on 
the very edge of the deep gully that yaAvned in a 
fearful manner. Bertram Avas trying Avith all his 
might to urge the horse foi’Avard ; but this only 
made the animal worse. Milson had been driving 
in the rear. Noav perceiving the imminent danger 


FIERY TRIALS. 69 

to which Gerie was exposed, he gave the reins of 
his own horse to Junie, telling her not to be 
alarmed, and hastened to the assistance of Ber- 
tram. The horse was utterly unmanageable. 
He soon discovered the only way hy which Egeria 
could be saved, and that way required prompt 
action. Springing upon the axle of the hind 
wheels, he cried to Bertram to jump out; and 
then he seized Miss Gerie and dragged her from 
the seat, and placed her on the ground upon her 
feet. It was a rough way, but justifiable under 
the circumstances. No sooner had he performed 
this brave feat, at the risk of his own life, than the 
horse, no longer feeling the reins, became quiet 
just in time, as it happened, to prevent the 
catastrophe of horse and vehicle being precipitated 
down the almost perpendicular declivity. In a 
few seconds after Miss Gerie’ s rescue the hind 
wheel next to her seat, was hanging over the 
little precipice. Bertram and Egeria, when they 
saw the situation, became as pale as human be- 
ings in the enjoyment of good health well could 
be. Miss Junie recovered in a moment from her 
fright, and John looked as though he had done 
nothing which should call forth wonder or admir- 
ation. Bertram exclaimed with a very palpable 
shudder, 

^‘What a narrow escape!” 

^'You may thank Mr. Milson” cried Junie ^Tor 
saving your lives. If he had not acted so 
promptly, you and sister both would have gone 


FIERY TRIALS. 


70 

to the bottom of that ugly gully.” 

^^Upon my word, Milson” said Bertram, ‘T do 
feel grateful to you for the preservation of my 
life, — but especially the life of Miss Egeria” he 
added in a tone which considerably marred the 
pleasurable emotion that thrilled Milson’s heart 
at the thought of saving the life of one for whom 
he felt willing to die. 

^T, too, thank you, John” said Gerie with more 
solemnity than was usual. never was so near 
death’s door before. Had it not been for your 
strong arm I would now be a corpse or a cripple 
for life.” And her earnest manner aroused a 
happy feeling in Milson’s breast. At that mo- 
ment how his swelling heart yearned to relieve 
itself of its pent up emotions! How he wanted 
to kneel at the fair one’s feet and offer her the 
only, or at least the most valuable gift in his pos- 
session— that was his own humble self! How he 
longed to tell her that he desired above all things, 
the privilege of being her legitimate protector all 
along the jou-rney of life ! It required a small 
effort on his part to prevent such a foolish course 
in the presence of Bertram and Junic. But he 
choked down his surging emotions and endeav- 
ored to assume a calm exterior. Then with 
quietness he said, 

‘T beg you and Mr. Bertram to consider your- 
selves released from any obligation which you 
might suppose you are under to me. I deserve 
no thanks for simply performing my duty. I 


FIERY TRIALS. 


71 

would have done the same for anybody.” While 
this was true, John thought it rather cool, and so 
he added : ‘‘but of course. Miss Gerie, my long 
acquaintance with yourself and family had a ten- 
dency to hasten my movements. Circumstances 

sometimes ” He paused in considerable em- 

barressment. But Bertram finished the sentence 
for him whether he uttered what was in Milson’s 
mind or not, by saying, 

“ are of such a nature that they stimu- 

late us to greater exertion. For instance we fly 
more readily to the assistance of our friends than 
of strangers.” 

“Certainly,” said Milson. “But let us be 
going.” To start back at once was the most 
practicable way of bidding his embarrassment. 
So they got in their buggies again and passing 
through Holly Springs turned their faces in the 
direction of Col. Paine’s residence. As they 
were going along Junie was the first to break the 
silence. 

“Mr. Milson, you are a real hero.” 

“What do you mean by a hero. Miss Junie?” 

“Oh, I have read about heroes ; but you are 
the first one I ever saw. How I thank you for 
saving Gerie’s life.” 

“I beg you to say no more about it,” said Mil- 
son. “You are bestowing more gratitude than I 
deserve. Any one could have done the same 
thing.” 

“Why did’nt Mr. Bertram do it then?” 


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FIERY TRIALS. 


‘^His situation” said John, ^^vas such that he 
could not.” 

‘^You are entirely too modest Mr. Milson. I 
was looking at you both, and he seemed to be 
frightened out of his wits while you were as cool 
as any one could be under such circumstances. 
You had the presence of mind to do the right 
thing at the right time. It was just a little 
amusing to see how gallantly you snatched Gerie 
out of the buggy. I expected to see all of you 
go over into the gully ; and you would have done 
so, if you had not acted with such promptness. 
I tell you, you are a real hero : and if I ever 
should write a novel, I will have you for one of 
the principal characters. 

John laughed at this idea. But Miss Juiiie 
continued. 

‘T tell you, I will make you the hero of my 
story, and I will describe you in such glowing 
colors that you will scarcely recognize yourself.” 

suppose I should not” answered John with 
a laugh, ^df you present me in the garb of a hero. 
I guess I would make a sorry figure in your 
story.” 

^^No sir,” she said merrily, will manufacture 
such circumstances as will make you appear to 
advantage in every scene. It would not do for 
the hero to render himself ridiculous.” 

^^But sometimes. Miss Junie, we do render 
ourselves ridiculous” said John, thinking of the 
blunders which he had made during that very 


FIERY TRIALS. 


73 

day. will not do” lie continued, “to put in 
your story what I said about Horace, and then 
at the table what I said about the grace, you 
know.” 

“Well,” she added, “that was merely an ex- 
hibition of absent-mindedness. And that feature 
would only make you the more interesting in the 
story. I imagine that a hero should not be like 
ordinary people.” 

And Miss Junie kept rattling on in this style 
till they reached home. When they had gotten 
out of the buggy she said very innocently in the 
presence of Bertram and Gerie, 

“I have really enjoyed this day, Mr. Milson, 
and I suppose I shall dream to-night about the 
hero of my novel. You must not forget your 
promise in regard to next Sunday.’’ 

John blushed : why, he could not tell. Ber- 
tram looked at Miss Gerie and then at the other 
two with a significant expression which might be 
interpreted as meaning “ they would be a nice 
couple.” Egeria look at Junie inquisitively. 
Then the latter said, 

“Mr. Milson is going to take me to church next 
Sunday.” 

“Perhaps, Miss Gerie,” said Bertram quickly, 
“you would like to go too. If you would I should 
be more than delighted to act as your escort.” 

“No doubt” replied Gerie “we may find some 
amusement at church. So, Mr. Bertram, if you 


74 FIERY TRIALS. 

will call next Sunday morning you will find me 
ready to go.” 

It was now growing late and both young men 
took their leave. Their state of mind may be 
as easily imagined as described. 

When the young ladies entered their mother’s 
room, they found her in tears. Egeria said with 
some sharpness in her ^'^oice, 

^‘What is the matter now, mother ? ” 

They had often seen her in this condition ; and 
when they urged her to divulge the cause of her 
trouble she was under the necessity of making 
evasive replies. But now drying her tears she 
spoke plainly and directly, 

have been particularly sad to-day, my chil- 
dren, and especially on your account, my dear 
Gerie.” 

^‘And why on my account, mother ? ” asked 
Gerie with a slight frown. 

^^Because of the visit of that Mr. Bertram,” 
she said plainly and sadly. 

^‘And what about him ? ” 

^‘My child,” answered Mrs. Paine in a solemn 
manner, am not often deceived in my estimate 
of people’s characters, even if they are strangers.” 

^•Mother,” cried Gerie in vexation, ^Svhat are 
you talking about ? ” 

*^My daughter,” said the mother sorrowfull}^, 
‘Mon’t be cross. You are young and inexperienced, 
and are liable to be deceived in your estimate of 


FIERY TRIALS. 


75 

men’s characters. This Mr. Bertram is not the 
gentleman you take him to be.” 

^TIow do you know, Mother, he is no gentle- 
man. What do you know about him anyhow ? ” 

‘•Nothing, except what I have seen with my 
own eyes ; and I tell you he is not what you take 
him to he.” 

“How do you know what I take him to b3 ? ” 
said Miss Gerie with flippancy. 

“I am satisfied my daughter would not be seen 
in the company of any man whom she did not 
believe to be a perfect gentleman.” 

“Of course,”said Gerie with a blush, “I believe 
Mr. Bertram to be just what he appears— a really 
refined gentleman, and more polished than John 

; ” but Gerie could not finish the name ; 

for at that moment she remembered the fearful 
gully. 

“More polished than John Milson? ” said Mrs. 
Paine. 

“Yes,” cried Gerie in half-angered confusion, 
“if you will make me say it, more polished than — 

“The man,” cried Junie springing to her feet^ 
“more polished than the man who not more than 
three hours ago saved jouv life.” Then with 
considerable animation, she related the circum- 
stance in reference to the gully with which the 
reader is acquainted. 

At this Mrs. Paine turned pale and then the 
tears flowed down her cheeks afresh. Then as 
soon as she could control her emotions she said. 


76 


FIERY TRIALS. 


‘^God bless the noble boy ! he is worth a dozen 
such as Bertram.” 

‘^That is all you know about it,” said Gerie 
with a curl of the lip, 

“Mother” cried Junie, “Mr. Milson is a real 
hero.” 

“Then marry him yourself,” quickly inter- 
rupted Gerie with flashing eyes. 

Junie had really never thought of marrying 
any one. But now for some reason which she 
did not know how to analyze she thought she 
would not like to see Gerie the wife of John Mil- 
son. He appeared to her only as a hero; but in 
the little novel which she thought she Avas capa- 
ble of producing, she had not made John any- 
body’s husband. When Gerie used his name in 
connection with the word marry, she discovered 
that the thought of his marrying any one made 
her feel a little — just a little uneasy. At that 
time she could not tell Avhy. 

“I never thought of marrying anybody in my 
life,” meekly said Junie. 

“Of course, you never did; but now as you 
haA^e found a real hero, my advice is not to let 
him escape you.” 

Gerie said this a little sarcastically ; but Junie 
looked at her with wondering eyes, as if she did 
not understand. 

“You should not talk” said Mrs. Paine, “in a 
disrespectful manner of the person Avho saved 
your life.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


77 

^^Saved my life! I will never hear the last of 
that. If that is to be eternally thrown up to 
me I wish I had gone over into the gully, and — ” 

^‘Stop Gerie, dear ! don’t say it.” 

‘‘Well,” said the young lady moderating her 
tone somewhat, “of course I feel thankful to 
John for what he did; but that is no reason I 
should marry him. I have told you before, mother, 
that I do not think enough of John to marry 
him.” 

Junie was some how glad to hear her sister say 
this, and she began to wonder if Mr. Milson 
wanted to marry Miss Gerie. 

‘‘Now, mother” said Gerie “I hope you will 
never mention this subject to me again. I tell 
you once for all that I will never be the bride of 
John Milson.” 

‘T pray God, my child,” cried Mrs. Paine with 
energy “that you may never be the bride of Ber- 
tram. I tell you he is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. 
If he does not have the mark of a villain, I never 
was more deceived in my life. Oh ! my child, 
beware! beware!” And again she burst into 
tears. 

“I will not stay” cried Gerie suddenly rising 
up “to hear a gentleman slandered in such a way 
as that.” And she hastily left the room. 

Poor Mrs. Paine ! as she neared the shores of 
eternity the shadows around her seemed to grow 
darker. The idea of seeing Gerie the wife of an 
unbeliever — an unbeliever whose obliquity of 


FIERY TRIALS. 


78 

moral x^rinciple she thought she could perceive 
under that polished exterior, was too much for 
her delicate nerves. She very easily saw Gerie’s 
infatuation, and judging from Bertram’s actions 
she could divine his intentions. A fearful 
picture rose up in her imagination, rendered 
darker by her self-accusations. She felt that 
she had neglected her duty till now it was too 
late to perform it. Her children were beyond 
her control. She had let the season pass for 
making good impressions. 

That Sunday night she went off to a secret 
place and poured out her very soul to God in 
prayer. She asked to be forgiven. She prayed 
for her children. She prayed for John Mils on 
who she could not help feeling would yet come 
into the light. In her thoughts Milson now ap- 
peared as the only nucleus around which her tot- 
tering hopes could rally. The way he had talk^ed 
that day made a rift in the clouds, and let through 
one straggling sun-beam. Therefore she prayed 
that he might build up a grand superstructure of 
Christian character upon the foundation which 
she believed to be solid. 

Mrs. Paine, as the reader has already doubt- 
less concluded, was a rather weak-minded woman. 
She was greatly to be pitied. True, circum- 
stances which it was impossible to control, had 
shaped her course of action contrary to her own 
will. She had not strength of body or mind to 
rise up in opposition to her husband. She yield- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


79 

ed, neglected her duty ; and now she was reaping 
the sad consequences. 

’Tis granted, and no plainer truth appears, 

Our most important are our earliest years ; 

The mind impressible and soft with ease 
Imbibes and copies what she sees. 

And through life’s labyrinth holds fast the clue 
That education gives her, false or true. 

Plants raised with tenderness are seldom strong ; 

Man’s coltish disposition asks the thong; 

And without discipline the favorite child, 

Like a neglected forester runs wild.” 

\ 

It was true in the case of poor Mrs. Paine. It 
will be true in every case till the world shall 
come to an end. It is an old and a true saying 
‘^as the twig is bent the tree’s inclined.” Leave 
children to follow the bent of their own mind, 
free them entirely from the reins of Avholesome 
discipline, and they will prove to be sources of 
disappointment and sorrow. Therefore says Holy 
Writ, ‘Train up a child in the way he should go.” 
Wo to that parent who pays no heed to this ad- 
vice ! Ere long he will writhe under the stings 
of conscience. He will have reason to weep over 
his neglect. But too late ! The past is beyond 
recall. He can only stand in helpless, hopeless 
agony, looking on as his offspring rush toward 
the dark abyss of ruin. May the Divine Spirit 
arouse all parents to a just sense of their respon- 
sibility, and breathe upon them, that they may 
appreciate their duty and discharge it! 


8o 


FIERY TRIALS. 


CHAPTER V. 

The ancients were wise in their day and gener- 
ation. They had some good thoughts and some 
wise proverbs. Among other sayings was ‘T<^now 
thyself.” Hid they ever take time to think that 
this was much “easier said than done ? ” Who 
can know himself? Of all knowledge this un- 
doubtedly is the most difficult of acquisition. 
We may say without much hazard that we cannot 
know ourselves. Many who thought they had 
attained to this very desirable sort of knowledge, 
and acted on that presumption, have found out to 
their sorrow and mortification, that they made a 
most egregious mistake, and that after all their 
study over the labyrinthine intricacies and com- 
plications of self they had only a limited acquaint- 
ance with themselves. We do not know our 
powers, and still less our own weaknesses. We 
are not very apt to under-estimate our abilities ; 
but we are never in much danger of magnifying 
our intellectual infirmities. We may imagine 
that under given circumstances we would pursue 
a certain course of action ; but let us be placed 
under those circumstances, and we would, ten to 


FIERY TRIALS. 


8r 

0116, act in a very different manner from wliat we 
supposed we would. So certain are we that we 
do know ourselves, how ready are we to give 
advice to other people, and tell what they ought 
to do in view of certain things. Few men think 
themselves incapable of giving good advice ; and 
all advice is given upon the positive assumption 
that they, the givers, have an intimate acquaint- 
ance with themselves. How easy it is to give 
wholesome and wise counsel to* persons who are 
struggling and staggering under a mountain of 
difficulties ! Some of our readers no doubt think 
that they could have given John Milson good 
advice. Some would tell him that he and Miss 
Gerie Paine were not kindred spirits at all, and 
that he would better banish her image from his 
heart, and crush down his wild affection; and 
that if he were determined to renounce the mis- 
eries of single-blessedness, he would better turn 
his attention to Miss Junie Paine, who they have 
already concluded was the better woman of the 
two. Others would tell Milson to let Gerie alone 
at all hazards. They are doubtless surprised that 
a young man of his turn of mind should be so 
infatuated with love for one who was so much 
his inferior, and was unworthy of the affection 
which her external charms had inspired. They 
would tell him that he might plainly perceive 
that his violent feelings were not reciprocated by 
the fair Egeria ; therefore he should have too 
much independence to sacrifice the dignity of 


82 


FIERY TRIALS. 


manhood by allowing t^is beautiful ^‘butterfly” 
to absorb the thoughts of his heart. All this 
might be very good advice. Probably the young 
man did sometimes wish that he could follow it, 
or something similar to it. But he might have 
replied to some of these advisers in the language 
of a great poet, who had probed to the bottom of 
human nature : 

“ Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 

Thou wouldst go kindle fire with snow, 

As seek to quench the fire of love with words.” 

A person who has been smitten by the little 
blind god does not have full control of himself. 
Love, as is abundantly established by experience 
and observation cannot be regulated by the human 
will. Many a one has tried by force of will to 
free himself from the golden fetters ; but in most 
cases it has been a fruitless struggle. We cannot 
love and hate whom we please. However human 
philosophy may try to account for it, the fact is 
demonstrated by the experience of almost every- 
one. 8o, John Milson was not his own master. 
Probably he would have regained his liberty, if 
he could. But whether he could, or not, he was 
a wretched young man. That Sunday night was 
spent by him in sleepless anguish. There was a 
struggle between Morpheus and the ‘’green-eyed 
monster,” and the “yellow fiend” gained the 
victory. When he would close his eyes in des- 
peration and try to coax sleep, he would imagine 
that he could see the beloved Gerie falling down 


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83 

some awful precipice, holding up her hands and 
imploring help; and he would almost start up in 
order to fly to the rescue. Then, again he would 
see her arrayed as a blushing bride, and then who 
should walk out to lead her to the altar bnt 
Eugene Bertram ; and this picture was provok- 
ing, maddening. Such a multitude of clashing 
thoughts and imaginings drove Morpheus clear 
out of his room. 

The next morning the sun - rose in splendor; 
but Milson rose not at all refreshed. What 
should he do? How could he escape from tor- 
ture? Such questions he propounded to himself 
a hundred times. But at last he resolved that 
he would see Gerie that very day, and put an 
end to his suspense. He would tell her plainly 
of the existence of his consuming feeling, and at 
once learn his destiny from her sweet lips. At 
the same time he dreaded this course; but then 
he thought it was almost death to remain in his 
present condition. It seemed that he could not 
sleep nor eat. Some people would have heartily 
laughed at him, and others would have pitied 
him, if they could have witnessed the fierce 
storm raging in his breast But he desired to 
quell the storm if it could possibly be done. So 
Monday evening he got into his buggy and started 
out of town. He had often traveled the same 
road and to the same place; but now it seemed 
to him that everybody was watching him. But 
his mind was fully made up; and as he applied 


84 FIERY TRIALS. 

the lash to his horse and drove Jehu-like in the 
direction of CoL Paine’s, some few of his acquaint- 
ances met him on the way, but he hardly spoke 
to them. It now appeared to him that every- 
body could see what was going on in his heart. 
In a little time his rapid rate of travel brought 
him to the spot which was the dearest to him on 
earth. At once he was shown into the parlor, 
and asked for Miss Egeria, who soon made her 
appearance. 

Here we will have to record the conversation 
which took place; not that it in itself is of so 
much importance, but that our reader may form a 
clearer idea of the characters of the persons 
whose history we are writing. Often in historical 
works a better idea of the characters can be 
gained from the words Avhich they utter than 
from many pages of description. We offer this 
by way of apology to those of our readers who 
may not have a fancy for the kind of talk which 
John and Egeria had that Monday evening. Some 
may consider it a very interesting conversation. 
An3"how we give it as it occurred. 

When Miss Gerie entered the parlor she spoke 
to Milson as if she were really glad to see him. 
But she could not help noticing his haggard 
look. 

^Mohn,” she exclaimed with some show of 
sympath}^ ‘^you are not well? ” Then she gazed 
at him with so much apparent tenderness .that 
Milson really began to hope that the result of his 


FIERY TRIALS. 85 

visit would be such as he so ardently desired. 
So at once he brightened up. 

^‘Yes, I am well, Miss Gerie, though I confess 
to some stupor, resulting from a sleepless night. 
I — I — I could not sleep for thinking of the peril 
you were in yesterday.” 

‘T am sorry, John, that I should have given 
you so much trouble. I dreamed about that ad- 
venture myself last night; and I dreamed how 
you snatched me out of the buggy,” she said 
laughing. declare John, I did not knowhow 
much I am indebted to you till I got to thinking 
about it last night.” But Miss Gerie did not tell 
all she thought about. She did not reveal the 
fact that Bertram appeared in her dreams as the 
chief actor. If John could have seen this, he no 
doubt would have taken his leave without making 
known the object of his visit. But it was the 
cause of some little happiness to know that he 
had been in Egeria’s mind, and he could have 
wished that she might come near falling into a 
deep gully every day if he were close by to save 
her life even at the risk of his own. But John 
was becoming a little desperate, and he scarcely 
knew what to say. So he relapsed into a some- 
what painful silence. Gerie looked at him in sur- 
prise, and began to wonder what it was that 
brought him out on Monday. He had never 
made such a visit before. She too became silent. 
It seemed to be a sort of Quaker meeting. Seeing 
Milson look so sad and pale Miss Gerie suddenly 
said, 


86 


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^^John, you must be sick. I never saw you 
look so bad before. What is the matter?” 

^^Nothing, Miss Gerie. I am not at all sick.” 

^^Well” said the young lady ^dt must be some- 
thing extraordinary which brings you here on 
Monday.” 

^‘Miss Gerie,” said John when he saw that he 
must speak and make some explanation, ^dt is 
something extraordinary : and no ; not extraordi- 
nary either. Miss Gerie” he exclaimed in a tone 
that almost startled the young lady, and then 
immediately lowered his voice, ‘T can no longer 
endure the suspense which is sapping my very 
life.” 

^‘Why, John,” she cried in some surprise, 
^dvhat is the matter ? I never saw you act so be- 
fore. You must be sick?” 

^^Do not mock me. Miss Gerie.” 

would not mock you for anything in the 
world. Y^ou do look sick,” she said with serious- 
ness. 

^^Oh, Gerie, Gerie,” he said not noticing the 
fact that he had dropped the prefix of Miss, 
do wish you would not feign ignorance. You 
ought to know what is the matter with me. 
Whatever it may be, you are the cause of \t.” 

John, I the cause of it? How should I be 
the cause of it? What do you mean?” 

^^Gerie.” he said with forced deliberation while 
the blood was surging hot through his veins, ‘T 
have been visiting you for years. I have hinted 


FIERY TRIALS. 


8 ; 

to you more than once that you are the center of 
all my thoughts and dreams ; but you have never 
given me reason to think that you entertained 
for me anything more than a sentiment of friend- 
ship. For these three years I have been in sus- 
pense which I could bear ; but now circumstances 
are such that suspense is no longer tolerable. 
Gerie, I have loved you, and I still love you with 
all the fervor of my nature. Your image is in 
my thoughts by day and my dreams by night. 
Oh, I feel the utter poverty of language when I 
attempt to express the consuming affection I feel 
for you. I wish you could only look into my 
heart and see the throne which your image occu- 
pies. I wish you could see without my telling it 
the intensity of devotion with which I bow down 
to the one idol of my heart. You know, Gerie, 
that I love you. I have fondly hoped that my 
love is not in vain. . I have endeavored to per- 
suade myself that you would not treat my suit 
with indifference. Tell me, am I mistaken ?” 

^^Why John,” quickly answered Gerie, ^T do 
not think I have ever even hinted by word or act 
that I looked upon you as anything more than a 
friend.” 

'‘Oh, Gerie, Gerie, will you, can you tell me 
that I am nothing more than a friend ?” 

"I did not say that. I said that I have never 
given you reason to believe that I regarded you 
in any other light.” 

"No ; you have not. But can you not tell me 


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that I am something more than a friend ? If you 
can, I will be a new man. I will take a fresh 
start in the race of life. I will from this moment 
make it the one purpose of my life to anticipate 
all your wishes. I will be your slave, I will be 
your protector ; I will devote all my energies to 
securing your happiness. Oh, may I dare to 
hope that you love me ?” 

Miss Grerie knew that she did not love John. 
She had respect for him. But, for two reasons 
she determined to keep him in suspense for a 
while longer. One was that she did not care to 
witness the effect which a positive rejection might 
have on Milson. The truth was she really liked 
John ; his noble qualities of mind and heart call- 
ed forth her esteem; but then, she said to herself 
that she could never love him as she did Bertram. 
Yet, Bertram, while he had given her some reason 
to believe that he entertained the same feeling 
for her that she had for him, had not said so. 
She did not know what she might do in case Ber- 
tram should fail to make a proposal. Under these 
circumstances she thought it would not be politic 
to discard Milson. She had said positively and 
in half anger to her mother that she would never 
marry him, but then young ladies frequently 
make bold assertions which they can find reason 
to retract. She was fond of admiration anyhow. 
It was flattering to her pride to know that she 
was the sole object of Milson’ s affection. So she 
at once determined upon her line of policy. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


‘^John/’ she said thoughtfully, ^^you have taken 
me so by surprise that I do not know what reply 
to make. I was not looking for such a declara- 
tion as you have just made.” 

This remark caused the young man’s heart to 
seemingly leap into his very throat. He began 
to believe, that in spite of his fears his suit 
would be successful ; and he began to feel that 
he would be repaid for his devotion during so 
many years of suspense. 

^^Gerie,” he said with deep earnestness, ‘^you 
might have seen for years that I love you. You 
have been out of my mind for scarcely a single 
moment. I could not have banished your image 
even if I had tried ; but I have not tried. It is 
a pleasure to me to bear your image in my heart. 
And now will you not speak just one word to 
repay me for years of devotion ?” 

^^How do I know John,” she said with an arch 
smile, “that you are in earnest ? I have heard 
gentlemen speak in this way before.” And in- 
voluntarily she straightened herself up with 
pride. But John did not notice her manner, so 
intent was he upon eliciting some confession or 
word that would confirm his hopes. 

“I will dare say that none of them ever loved 
with the same deep earnestness that I have. It 
is impossible that they could. Gerie,” he added 
with blushing energy “I would die for you.” 

“Oh, come John, you are too extravagant.” 

And she broke into a merry laugh. Milson, 


go 


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poor simpleton ! might have perceived that she 
cared nothing for him, if he had only stopped to 
reason in regard to the matter. But he would, 
or could not call reason into exercise, 

‘T cannot express half what I feel. Oh, Gerie, 
send me not away still to suffer in suspense. It 
is intolerable. Tell me, that I have not hoped 
in vain. Tell, me that I may be something more 
than a friend.” 

^^What else would you be ?” she asked as if 
determined to wring from him every secret of his 
soul. 

ask you plainlj’, then, be mine. Give me 
your heart and hand. Give me the privilege of 
watching over you through life and of gratifying 
all your wishes. I will be your slave, Gerie. 
You will have only to command. You cannot 
now misunderstand me.” 

‘‘I would be very simple, indeed, John, if I 
could not understand such plain language,” she 
said with another laugh. 

‘AVell, then you understand me, what is your 
answer? ” he asked gazing into her face as if to 
read her thoughts. 

^‘Suppose, John,” she asked with an inquisitive 
look, ^'1 should say that I do not love you ?” 

^^Oh, Gerie, if you say that,” he cried spring- 
ing to his feet, ‘T fear I should be driven to mad- 
ness. I cannot endure the thought that such 
sincere devotion as mine is unrequited. You 


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91 


will not be so cruel as to tell me that all my 
hopes must be at once blasted.” 

^^Well,” she said laughing, ^‘if you would think 
me cruel, 1 will not say it.” 

^^Thank you, dearest,” he cried with a beam- 
ing face, — ” 

^Tlold, John! ” exclaimed the young lady, ^^not 
so fast ! I do not want you to assume too much. 
I only said, I would not say that I do not love 
you — that was all. Your declaration has taken 
me by surprise. You must give me time to con- 
sider. It will not do to be too hasty. We would 
better wait a while, and not suddenly take a step 
which both of us might regret.” 

will never regret it; and I will so act that 
you can never regret it,” said John. 

^^No doubt, you now think so, John,” said the 
young lady with a serious air. “But we will 
lose nothing by waiting a while.” 

“Will you not then give me one word to hope 
that the consideration ^which you promise to give 
the subject will terminate in a manner favorable 
to my wishes ? ” 

“I will not say more,” she answered with some 
little firmness, “than I have already said. I 
will think over the matter.” 

This was all that Milson could induce the idol 
of his heart to say upon the subject which was 
the dearest to him of all others. 

She had other reasons than those which we 
have already assigned for her treatment of him ; 


FIERY TRIALS. 


92 

but we will not trouble the reader with them. 

The young man soon took his leave. He was 
in a better frame of mind than when he came. 
He had now unbosomed himself; and this process 
itself was some relief. He had done all that he 
could, and he felt better satisfied — like a man 
who had discharged his duty. Somehow he could 
not bring himself to believe that he was an object 
of indifference to the fair Egeria. He flattered 
himself with the conclusion that she was too 
modest to tell him plainly that she loved him; 
and he blamed himself for having so vehemently 
urged her to do so. So he went back home a 
little more happy. The ‘^yellow fiend” granted 
him a short respite. 

When Milson had taken his departure Miss 
Junie came into the parlor where Gerie still re- 
mained, looking a little more thoughtful and se- 
rious than was usual. 

^^Sister,” said Junie in a kind of matter-of-fact 
way, ^‘what did Mr. Milson want?” 

^•Well I will tell you” she said laughing, ^fif 
you want to know: He came here to ask me to 
ma,rry him.” 

^Hle did!” exclaimed Junie in a tone which 
caused Miss Gerie to look at her in wonder. 

‘‘Why certainly he did. What is there sur- 
prising in it. He has loved me for years, so he 
says, and I believe him.” 

On hearing this a little shade of sorrow passed 
over her face. J unie thought, for some reason, she 


FIERY TRIALS. 


93 

would not like to have John Milson for a brother- 
in-law ; not that she did not like John : she had 
respect for him, and thought him a noble young 
man, and somewhat of a hero ; but somehow she 
did not want him for a brother-in-law. 

^^What did you tell him?” was the timid in- 
quiry of Junie. 

^‘What do you want to know for ? ” cried Gerie. 

never knew you to take so much interest in 
my affairs. I shall not tell you,” said Gerie as 
if to tantalize her. And at once she went out of 
the parlor. 

Miss Junie could not tell, poor thing, why this 
information should give her the least pain. John 
Milson was nothing to her. But she kept think- 
ing about it ; and somehow she felt a little vexed 
that Milson should have asked Egeria to marry 
him. Alas ! who knows himself! Who knows 
herself ! 


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CHAPTER VI. 

The Sabbath again dawned. Milson and Ber- 
tram were both at Colonel Paine’s, according to 
previous agreement, having arrived at about nine 
o’clock. About ten o’clock the parties got into 
the two buggies, and took the road leading in the 
direction of Holly Springs. Col. Paine saw them 
as they were preparing to start ; but he asked 
no questions as to where they were going. It 
did not occur to him that they would that day 
enter a house which he despised from the bottom 
of his heart. He had no good reason to believe 
that Bertram, with whom he was charmed, had 
any love for sacred places. So he supposed that 
the young people were merely going out riding. 

We will not take up our reader’s time by enter- 
ing into details of the conversation that occurred 
among the young people on the way. But we 
will allow the reader some latitude for the ex- 
ercise of his imagination, while we hasten on to 
relate matters which we think of more import- 
ance. 

In due time they arrived, entered the church, 
and were soon comfortably seated. In a little 


FIERY TRIALS. 


95 

time a man was seen to enter the pulpit. It was 
the minister — the Rev. Aaron Archer, D. D, He 
was a man about fifty-five years of age, well- 
built, stout, and of commanding appearance. A 
glance at him was sufficient to disclose the fiict 
that he was no ordinary character. Dr. Archer 
had followed the profession of Law till he was 
about thirty-five years of age. Then feeling that 
it was his duty to engage in a higher vocation, 
he gave up a profession in which he was accumu- 
lating wealth, and entered upon the more exalted 
work of saving human souls. It needs hardly 
be added that he was a man of deep piety. None 
but a man of fervent devotion, strong fiiith, and 
glowing zeal would pursue such a course. What- 
ever might be said of others, none could assert 
that he was influenced by mercenary motives or 
craving for worldly distinction. He had been a 
great lawyer ; and so he became a great preacher. 
He was an orator of the first rank. The conse- 
quence was that on the Sabbath day he generally 
addressed a large audience. 

At the time our story begins, he was endeavor- 
ing to counteract the poison of infidelity which 
we have already informed the reader infected the 
religious atmosphere of Holly Springs. For this 
purpose he frequently preached on the divinity 
of the Lord Jesus Christ and kindred subjects. 
As a specimen of his manner of preaching we 
give in the present chapter the entire sermon 
which he delivered on the Sabbath that Bertram 


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96 

and party attended church ; which sermon we 
respectfully ask the reader to peruse with some 
attention, as it may throw some light on subse- 
quent events, and is perhaps necessary to the ac- 
complishment of the purpose which has prompted 
us to undertake the present story. 

Dr. Archer made no effort to be grand ; but he 
spoke plainly, and to the masses. But his whole 
manner was grand and impressive. Few could 
listen to him without becoming interested in what 
he was saying. There was an electric influence 
about the man which it was almost impossible to 
resist. While there may not have been anything 
very profound in his sermon, yet his very manner 
was attractive, and generally secured the un- 
divided attention of his congregation. 

Dr. Archer, in beginning the exercises of the 
hour, read in a very impressive way that familiar 
old hymn : 

All hail the power of Jesus’ name ! 

Let angels prostrate fall : 

Bring forth the royal diadem 
And crown Him Lord of all.” 

The hymn was sung by the congregration 
without the aid of an organ. It was grand. 
Junie, especially, had never heard anything like 
it before. It caused a feeling at least akin to 
solemnitv to steal into her mind. After the sino;- 
ing Dr. Archer read the twenty-second chapter 
of Matthew ; then he offered up a fervent prayer, 
which was the first that Junie had ever heard in 
her life. Of course this was strange ; but she 


FIERY TRIALS. 


9; 

listened with marked attention. Dr. i\rcherthen 
pri^acbed the following 

SERMON. 

“What think ye of Christ ? ” Matt. 22 : 44. 

“ The Christian religion is worth everything ; or it 
is worth nothing at all. There is no half-way ground. 
The Bible is either the book of God ; or it is a down- 
right imposition. We cannot take the position as some 
do, that it is partly divine and partly human ; and is 
partly true and partly false. It is all inspired, or 
none of it is inspired. It is wholly true, or wholly 
false. There is no possible middle ground. It will 
be admitted by all men that if the Christian religion 
is true, it is the most important thing that can pos- 
sibly engage the attention of a human being. It is 
our solemn duty to investigate the evidences upon 
which it rests ; and if we find the evidences sufficient 
to establish its divine authenticity, then it is our duty 
to embrace it at once, and to use all our influence in 
persuading others to follow our example. But on 
the other hand, if any man, after a fair, candid, and 
honest investigation, arrives at the conclusion that 
its claims are without foundation, then as a rational 
being he is bound to reject it. But it ought not to 
be rejected without mature deliberation. No man 
should cast the Bible aside as a book unworthy of 
credit so long as there is room even for the suspicion 
that it is a Divine Revelation. If you reject the 
Bible without the clearest proof of its falsity, you 
cannot be happy. You will be tossed about like a 
cork on the waves ; and you will be haunted by the 
fearful suspicion that you may have made a mistake ; 
and you will be tormented by that ‘ certain fearful 
looking for of judgment and fiery indignation ’ of 
which the Apostle speaks. Of course no man in 
such a condition can enjoy peace. 

The question, then, which constitutes our text, is 
one of vital importance — What think ye of Christ ? 

In answering the question I remark that only 
three opinions can be formed in regard to Christ, so 


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98 

far as his public acts were concerned ; it is not pos- 
sible to conceive of any other opinions. We are 
limited to just these three hypotheses: 

1st. He was a fanatic ; 2d. He was an impostor; 
3d. He was the Son of God. 

Men, in their investigations of this suject have 
always been confined to these three views. 

Now let me lay down some incontrovertible propo- 
sitions as a starting point. 

If it can be proved that Christ was neither the Son 
of God, nor an Impostor, then the logical conclusion 
is he was a Fanatic. Again, if it can be shown that 
he was neither the Son of God, nor a Fanatic, then 
he was an Impostor, Again, if it can be established 
that he was neither an Impostor nor a Fanatic, then 
he was the Son of God. 

No one, whether Believer or Unbeliever, will deny 
that these propositions are in accordance with the 
strictest rules of logic ; indeed, they are self-evident. 

If you desire to feel the force of the argument 
whidi I shall advance to-day, I beg you, keep in 
mind, that it is not possible to form any other opin- 
ions of Christ in his public character, than the three 
which I have just mentioned. This being granted I 
shall undertake to prove that Christ was neither an 
Impostor nor a Fanatic ; and if I do this, then it 
will follow as a necessary, logical consequence that 
he was the Son of God. 

Skeptics are so fond of reason that I shall make 
an attempt to meet them on their own ground. 

First, then, I shall endeavor to show that Jesus 
Christ was not a Fanatic. As I desire all the younger 
portion of the congregation to understand me clearly 
and fully, it may not be amiss to say that a fanatic 
is one who is affected with excessive enthusiasm, 
especially on religious subjects. Now some men 
have entertained this opinion of Christ ; and some 
now entertain it. They admit that he was a good 
man ; but they affirm that he was a dreamer, and 
that he was mistaken in his views as to the Messiah- 
ship. They say that he was laboring under mental 


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99 


hallucination — that he merely imagined he was the 
Son of God. They say he claimed to be something 
which he was not ; and, though he was sincere in the 
claim, yet he was deceived and mistaken about it. I 
may here say that if Christ was mistaken in his views, 
he was a very crazy fanatic ; he exhibits down-right 
insanity of the most glaring character. Sometimes 
private men imagine themselves to be kings or great 
military chieftains. Some take themselves to be 
Napoleon Bonaparte or George Washington, and 
they assume airs which they think become such 
characters. Now what impression do they make on 
us ? Why, we regard them as utterly insane. They 
are sent to the Lunatic Asylum. Now, how surprised 
you would all be if I should stand up here, and in 
the most solemn manner proclaim that I am the Son 
of God — yea, that I am God himself. Some of you 
would come forward, and promptly put an end to my 
preaching. You would say, ‘That man has a burn- 
ing fever — he is out of his mind — he is crazy.’ Sup- 
pose I should for days, and months, and years, 
persist in this claim, and should continue to affirm 
that I am the Son of God. You would pronounce 
me hopelessly insane. Now, then, do you not see 
that if Christ was mistaken at all in his views, he was 
laboring under mental derangement which would at 
once have become apparent? If he was a dreamer, 
or a fanatic at all, he was the most hopelessly insane 
fanatic that ever did live in the world. If he did 
make a mistake it was the most glaring mistake that 
was ever made by a human being. 

Let us lock at the facts in the case. Here comes 
along a man by the name of Jesus, born of poor pa- 
rents in an insignificant village. He comes from a 
town which was held in contempt by all who knew 
anything of its history. He has the bearing of an or- 
dinary laborer, and is an uneducated man. That 
man faces great crowds of Pharisees and Sadducees 
and the learned men of the Jewish nation and calmly 
says T am the son of the living God.’ When the 
people heard such strange language, of course they 


100 


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watched him narrowly. But they discovered no 
symptoms of fanaticism, I want you to remember 
if Christ was a fanatic at all, he must have been the 
most crazy, or at least as crazy as any fanatic that 
ever lived on the face of the earth. Now when he 
said T am the son of God — yea I am God himself,’ 
why did not the people cry out ‘that man is crazy ?’ 
I ask why was he not arrested as a crazy fanatic. If 
he was insane he deserved pity instead of contempt 
and abuse ; he deserved protection rather than pun- 
ishment. Is it not strange that if Jesus was a fanatic, 
he was not accused of insanity by his enemies? 
Why should great crowds gather, day after day, fol- 
low a crazy fanatic and listen with the most rigid at- 
tention when he proclaimed himself the ‘bread of life 
and the son of God.’ How will we account for it 
that men abandoned their professions and followed 
him ? Why was it that great crowds of learned men 
congregated around him and engaged in discussion 
with him ? Why did they not suspect him of fanat- 
icism and insanity ? When Christ declared that ‘be- 
fore Abraham was I am,’ why did the people take up 
stones to kill him ? Was this the proper way to treat 
a crazy fanatic ? The plain truth is they never sus- 
pected him of fanaticism and insanity. If they had 
they ought rather to have pitied than attempted to kill 
him. Suppose we could to-day call up those who 
crucified him — the members of the Sanhedrin and 
Pilate, and ask them the question, ‘did you think 
Jesus was insane? did you think he was a mere 
fanatic ?’ Every one would reply, ‘no : we took 
him to be of sound mind : we never would have cru- 
cified a crazy fanatic.' Not one would admit the 
charge of fanaticism. It is as plain as anything can 
be that Jesus did not make the impression on the 
minds of his cotemporaries that he was crazy. Not 
one would admit the charge of fanaticism ; and those 
who lived at the same time with him, and were per- 
sonally acquainted with him were the best judges. 
It will not therefore do for any man at this day to 
prefer the charge of fanaticism against Christ, when 


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lOI 


such a charge at the time he lived would have been 
denied by all who were acquainted with him. Here 
then, we have a strong unanswerable argument that 
Jesus Christ was not a mere fanatic. He was not 
thought to be such by his cotemporaries. 

Again, a fanatic is always guilty of some extrava- 
gance. His excessive zeal is certain to run him into 
error; and he is sure to make the most glaring blun- 
ders. Now, apply this test to Jesus Christ. In no 
instance did he ever make a mistake. He never an- 
nounced a false principle of ethics; but he displayed 
the greatest wisdom in all his teachings. He was 
followed by Pharisees and Sadducees learned in all 
the principles of the law ; and they proposed diffi- 
cult questions with the express purpose of entrap- 
ping him ; but in every instance they were foiled. 
They did their utmost to betray him into some ex- 
pression ot disloyalty to the Roman government ; but 
they were completely discomfited. You remember 
they asked him the direct question if it was lawful to 
pay tribute to Caesar. They thought his answer 
would get him into a dilemma from which he could 
not extricate himself. They were under the impres- 
sion that his reply must be offensive to the Jews on 
the one hand, or the Romans on the other. How 
surprised they were when the answer came without 
the least hesitation, ‘render unto Caesar the things 
which are Caesar’s and unto God the things which 
are God’s.’ When the sinful woman was brought 
to him by persons who cared nothing for the crime 
of which she was guilty, how appropriate was his an- 
swer, given as it was to a set of hypocrites, ‘let him 
that is without sin cast the first stone.’ Again the 
Sadducees proposed a question in regard to the res- 
urrection. They did not believe in any resurrection. 
There was a woman, they said who had seven hus- 
bands , now whose wife should she be in the resur- 
rection ? To them this presented a serious objection 
to the doctrine of a resurrection. But how soon the 
Lord solved the knotty problem : “in heaven there 
is neither marrying nor giving in marriage,’’ No 


102 


FIERY TRIALS. 


fanatic could have answered as Jesus did. See 
how easily he threw them into confusion whenever 
he proposed a question. He asked them in the lan- 
guage of our text, ‘what think *ye of Christ?’ whose 
son is he ? They thought this a very simple ques- 
tion, and they answered with great promptitude ‘the 
son of David.’ ‘If so’ said Jesus, ‘how could David 
call him Lord?’ They could not answer. Again, 
he said ‘tell me, the baptism of John, was it from 
heaven or of men?’ They dared not answer. In 
many instances Jesus proved his superiority in wis- 
dom to the most learned men of the Jewish nation. 
VV^ell then might the people exclaim in astonishment 
‘whence hath this man such wisdom ? ’ It was impos- 
sible for a fanatic to display the wisdom which he 
did. 

Again, if Jesus had been a fanatic, his disciples 
would have caught his spirit, and in their writings 
they would have given some evidence of his fanati- 
cism. They were with him every day for several 
years ; they learned their doctrines from him, and of 
course they would reflect the character of their 
teacher. This is perfectly natural. If he had been 
a fanatic, he would have made fanatics of them. All 
history shows that whenever a man founds a new 
party, his immediate followers are certain to become 
imbued with his spirit. Unconsciously and involunta- 
rily they reflect the character and sentiments of their 
teacher. Now then, examine the writings of the 
evangelists, and where is the evidence of their fanat- 
icism ? If they were not inspired men, they were the 
most remarkable persons that ever handled a pen. 
Sometimes I am filled with astonishment and over- 
whelmed with a sense of awe, when I read the history 
of Jesus as given by the sacred writers. 

And here are one or two considerations to which 
I desire to call your attention — considerations that 
are sufficient to affect anyone with surprise who is 
inclined to think Jesus was a fanatic. 

The first is that the sacred writers never indulge 
in any eulogies on their great teacher. They never 


FIERY TRIALS. 


103 

hold him up as a hero ; never praise one of his deeds ; 
and never attempt to magnify anything which he did. 
They never say one word in regard to his personal 
appearance. They never utter a word in defense of 
his character. His enemies called him emissary of 
the Devil, and brought up the gravest charges against 
him, and yet his disciples, who have given us a history 
of his life, never took the trouble to refute any of 
these charges. On his trial he was accused of blas- 
phemy and sedition ; and the sacred writers make 
no attempt to falsify the accusation. They never 
complain of the great injustice with which his enemies 
treated him. They seem to have been so over- 
whelmed by his astonishing works, and were so im- 
pressed with the majesty of his character, that they 
never thought it worth the while to deny a single 
charge made by his enemies. They felt that such a 
one as he was stood in no need of defense from men. 
His life was enough. 

A second consideration is that the sacred writers 
never abuse the enemies of their Lord. They make 
no effort to exhalt the character of Jesus by crying 
down his opponents. It is evident that Jesus was 
put to death without any just cause ; and his disciples 
therefore had a right to complain. They could re- 
proach Pilate for his baseness and cowardice ; but 
they do not condemn the course which he pursued. 
They certainly had reason -to do so. But they say 
not a disrespectful word about him. They might 
have spoken in unmeasured terms of reproach in 
regard to that mob clamoring for the blood of an 
innocent man. But Peter only said to them on the 
day of Pentecost when his heart was fired up with 
the Holy Ghost “ ye have with wicked hands slain 
the Son of God.” 

Again, there was Judas Iscariot, the betrayer of 
Christ ; but the sacred writers say nothing in regard 
to the atrocity of his crime ; they make no effort at 
all to impress us with a sense of his villainy. They 
had good reason to hold him up to the scorn of all 
honest men ; yet the harshest thing they say of him 


104 


FIERY TRIALS. 


was uttered by Peter, who merely said that Judas 
' went off and hanged himself and went unto his 
place.’ I ask you is this not remarkable ? Is it not 
remarkable that the sacred writers never defend the 
character of Christ, and never speak evil of his 
enemies ? They merely relate naked, unvarnished 
facts without concealing or palliating a single circum- 
stance. Whenever I think of these facts, the im- 
pression comes over me with overwhelming force 
like it did over the Centurion of old, and I cannot 
but feel, surely this was the Son of God.” No crazy 
fanatic could ever have trained up followers who 
could write such a history. I think then we have 
established the fact that Christ was not a fanatic. 

Now then it remains to be proved that he was not 
an Impostor. Let us, for the benefit of the younger 
people, settle clearly what is meant by an impostor. 
An impostor is one who assumes a character for the 
purpose of deception. An impostor in religious 
matters is one who assumes the character of a 
preacher or a prophet without any divine authority. 
He pretends to some extraordinary commission. 
Thus Mahomet pretended to be commissioned by 
the Almighty to deliver a divine revelation to men. An 
impostor then is a hypocrite. He makes high pre- 
tentions to religion while in his heart he is utterly 
wicked. He is like a * whited sepulchre beautiful 
without,’ but within full of all uncleanness. Jesus 
Christ was, and is to this day regarded by many Jews 
and Infidels as an Impostor. 

Now the first argument to prove that he was not 
such a character is founded on the fact that he did 
not pursue the course of an impostor. If he was 
not what he pretended to be, it is evident that he 
would have relied on human agencies exclusively for 
the achievement of his purposes. He could not 
expect the assistance of heaven. If he knew that 
he was not the Messiah, he must adopt a line of 
policy that would unite, as far as possible, all the 
Jews, and enlist all their influence for the accomplish- 
ment of his object. We can very easily see how an 


FIERY TRIALS. 


105 

impostor, who pretended to be the Messiah, ought to 
have acted. Finding out what were the opinions of 
his countrymen in reference to the expected deliverer, 
he would of course assume a character in accordance 
with their views. He would be very unwise indeed 
to assume a character that would only call forth 
reproach and contempt from the very classes on 
whom he most depended for success. Now Jesus 
well understood what kind of Messiah the Jews were 
expecting. They were looking for one who would 
restore the kingdom to Israel. They expected him 
to be a great prince who would lead them on to 
victory over all enemies. They had no idea of a 
spiritual kingdom to be established on earth; and 
they felt no need of a spiritual saviour. They de- 
sired nothing but political redemption. Now what 
were the elements that presented themselves to one 
who pretended to be the Messiah ? Why here were 
the Pharisees and Sadducees — two powerful parties 
among the Jews. They differed widely from each 
other in regard to theological doctrines ; but still, 
they could have been easily united in a common 
cause against their enemies. They controlled public 
sentiment among the Jews. They constituted the 
influential classes representing the wealth and intelli- 
gence of the nation. If Jesus were an impostor it is 
evident that he would have made an effort to concili- 
ate these two classes. He would have said nothing in 
regard to the views on which they were so much^ 
divided. He would have pandered to their tastes 
and prejudices. Then he would have proposed to 
them to raise a great army in order to throw off the 
Roman yoke. There were impostors who claimed 
the Messiahship ; and this was the precise course 
which they pursued. Indeed, this is the course 
adopted by all impostors. But Jesus pursued a dif- 
ferent course from this. He did not go to the Phar- 
isees and Sadducees, and tell them he had come to 
establish a temporal empire, and urge upon them the 
necessity of sustaining his claims. On the contrary, 
from the very beginning of his ministry, he denounced 


o6 


FIERY TRIALS. 


them and their evil practices and false doctrines 
.in such terms as to call forth the bitterest hate and 
resentment. The current language of the times 
could not afford more withering words than Jesus 
applied to them. Thus he made them his mortal 
enemies. It is as plain as anything can be that 
Jesus made no effort to court the favor of the Phar- 
isees and Sadducees. An impostor, with any wisdom, 
would have gone to these very classes, and would 
have flattered and cajoled them, and winked at their 
vices. He could have entertained no hope of success 
without their co-operation. He would not have cared 
whether their religious doctrines were true or false, 
just so he could unite them in the support of his 
cause. As political success would be his only aim, 
he would have used any means by which it could 
be attained. Such a character as a really pious im- 
postor is unknown in the history of the world. An 
impostor is always a hypocrite. If then Jesus was 
an impostor he w^as not a good man ; and he would 
have employed Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes — any- 
thing in order to secure recognition as a political 
Messiah. Bear it in mind that an impostor who would 
attempt to play the part of the Messiah, could have 
only one object in view; and that was the establish- 
ment of a political empire. But Jesus never did one 
thing to indicate that he had such a purpose in view. 
If he had contemplated any such purpose he would 
have pursued a course somewhat similar to that of 
Mahomet. That impostor, or fanatic, whichever you 
may please to call him, labored for years before he 
could persuade scarcely anyone to believe that he 
was the prophet of God. But after awhile he ac- 
quired political power; and then he forced his religion 
at the point of the sword. In order to make his 
religion attractive he appealed to the very worst pro- 
pensities of human nature. He made promises of 
earthly good ; and promised such a heaven as was 
suited to the most sensual wretch on earth. But 
Jesus adopted a course far different from this. In 
the first place he deliberately rejected the only means 


FIERY TRIALS. 


107 

by which he could hope to insure success as a polit- 
ical Messiah. Instead of calling on the influential 
classes of the Jews, he went to the so-called lower 
circles of society ; and instead of appealing to their 
ambition by promises of earthly promotion and pros- 
perity he calmly informed them that if they espoused 
his cause they must expect to renounce all hope of 
earthly glory, and must expect suffering, persecution, 
death. All his promises of reward had reference to 
the eternal world. He never in a single instance held 
out the most distant hope of honor in this world. It 
was always poverty, blood, fire in this life, and eternal 
happiness in the life to come. Now I ask you, in the 
name of reason, was this the proper course for an 
impostor to pursue? Remember that an impostor 
seeks only earthly honor and glory. If he makes any 
show of piety at all it is only as an auxiliary to insure 
the success of his earthly projects. It is therefore 
as plain as anything can be that the kingdom of 
Christ, to use his own language, Ts not of this world.’ 
He flatly refused all earthly honors, and he took not 
the first step to establish a temporal empire. How 
then can any man charge him with being an im- 
postor? 

But besides this let us consider another argument. 
The purity and excellence of his precepts are suffi- 
cient to refute the charge of imposture made against 
him by his worst enemies. Eighteen centuries have 
rolled away ; and still the Christian religion has 
never been improved. The wisest men of this earth 
are incapable of improving it. They can add noth- 
ing to it that would make it better ; nor can they 
take anything from it without making it worse. An 
impostor would certainly have set forth some false 
principles of morals. He would have run into some 
glaring error, or would have uttered some expression 
in conformity with the superstitions of his time. Ma- 
homet made mistakes of this sort in the Koran. They 
are so palpable that they excite the contempt of those 
who have been elevated by Christian civilization. 
Any one who will take the trouble to read the Koran 


io8 


FIERY TRIALS. 


will be convinced of the absurdity of Mahomet’s pre- 
tentions. Only compare his teachings with those 
of Jesus Christ, and you will be satisfied that the 
doctrine of Christ alone can lay claim to di- 
vine inspiration. If then all the wisdom of men 
can suggest no improvement upon the principles 
delivered by Jesus, it is a strong argument that he 
was not a hypocrite. No impostor could ever have 
composed the sermon on the Mount. Such grand, 
sublime teachings could have issued only from a 
pure and honest heart. 

The last argument which I shall use is the rapid 
spread of the Christian religion immediately after the 
death of Jesus of Nazareth. I shall not refer to the 
prophecies, or the miracles ascribed to him ; because 
infidels will not accept these as proof; and besides, 
I have proposed to myself to discuss the question in 
the light of reason, and to employ arguments based 
on historical facts. 

Now it cannot be disputed by any one that di- 
rectly after the crucifixion of Jesus the Christian re- 
ligion did spread throughout the world with the most 
astonishing rapidity. The question comes up, why 
did not the religion of Jesus spread with greater ra- 
pidity in his life time. He himself preached and 
sent out his disciples to preach the gospel;, and yet 
it seems they made no great impression on the world. 
How will you account for the fact that about a dozen 
uneducated men succeeded in converting whole na- 
tions in a very short time, when hundreds of the dis- 
ciples could achieve scarcely anything, at least 
comparatively, during the life time of their leader ? 
What was there in the religion of Jesus to make it 
more attractive after he was put to death, than it was 
while he was alive ? How can the question be an- 
swered ? If Christ was a fanatic or an impositor, it is 
very evident, his resurrection from the dead was a 
fable. If he was not the son of God, then, when he 
was laid in the grave he was just like any other dead 
man; and he could be of no assistance to his fol- 
lowers. This being so, why should they perpetrate 


FIERY TRIALS. 


109 

such a monstrous and palpable falsehood, and at- 
tempt to hold up to the woild a crazy fanatic, or a 
wicked impostor, as the Son of God,? If Jesus did 
not rise from the dead his disciples knew that he did 
not. Now why should they all at once be inflamed 
with so much zeal in supporting the cause of a man 
who had disappointed and deceived them. If I were 
an infidel I would be bound to suspect that some re- 
markable event transpired directly after the death of 
Jesus to bring about such a wonderful change in the 
opinions and conduct of his disciples. Something 
must have occurred to produce such a change. What 
was it? It is an undeniable fact that Jesus was cru- 
cified, and that his discipies had all fled, and his 
enemies had possession of the dead body. Yet in a 
few hours after the death of the master, his disciples 
came forth from their hiding places, and with the 
most astonishing boldness, and in the most public 
manner affirmed that their Lord had risen from the 
tomb. Why did not the Pharisees and Sadducees 
produce the dead body, and thus place it beyond all 
dispute that Jesus was an impostor? It was a duty 
which they owed to themselves, and to the Jews and 
to the Gentiles, to you and to me. I charge it upon 
the Jewish officers, that for the good of all future 
generations, they ought to have brought forward the 
dead body of Jesus, and thus have put his disciples 
to open shame and have silenced them forever. If 
Jesus was an impostor those men had it in their 
power to prove it without any difficulty whatever. 
But the infidel may suppose, if he please, that the 
body was produced. Then it is still more difficult 
to accc»unt for the rapid dissemination of the Chris- 
tian religion among the nations of the world. For 
if Jesus rose not from the dead, the whole Christian 
system of theology is the most silly superstition that 
ever enfettered the human mind. It is the most stu- 
pendous fraud that has ever been palmed off on 
the world. Because if Christ was not the Son of 
God, it is evident that he was an impostor. Then 
how does the case stand ? Why, directly after the 


I lo 


FIERY TRIALS. 


death of Jesus thousands and thousands of people 
who had been wedded to their own religious belief 
gave it up and became followers of an impostor, who 
had been publicly executed as a malefactor. And 
what did they gain by renouncing their own religion 
and embracing that of Jesus? Suffering, persecu- 
tion, death. Do you believe that thousands of in- 
telligent persons would have thus acted — thus given 
up their lives without the clearest proof that the 
Christian religion was of divine origin. They had no 
excuse for being deceived ; because, if the disciples 
had told a falsehood in regard to the resurrection of 
their Master, it could at that time, have been easily 
proved. Is it not evident that the disciples of 
Jesus did have some way to prove the truth of 
what they asserted ? They could prove it only by 
the performance of miracles in the name of the 
Lord Jesus Christ. If they did this, then we are 
driven to the conclusion that he was what he claimed 
to be — the Son of God. 

In the arguments which I have advanced, I have 
employed plain facts of history. They are stubborn 
facts, which you cannot brush out of your way as 
mere cob-webs. They prove clearly that Jesus is 
the Son of God, and as such I call on you to 
accept him. He is the only Saviour. If you reject 
him, then your doom is hell. But I pray you, my 
hearers, look to him as the only hope of salvation. 

I hold him up to you to-day as the Son of the 
living God — the world’s Redeemer, and I entreat 
you lay claim to an interest in the precious blood which 
was shed for you. Come to Jesus as your Saviour, 
and then you will be happy in time, and at last 
will enter into an inheritance which is undefiled, 
incorruptible and that fadeth not away.” 


i^IERY TRIALS. 


iit 


CHAPTER VII. 

Miss J unic listened to the preceding sermon 
with the very closest attention. It was the first 
she had ever heard in her life ; and as she had 
never received any religious instruction it left 
her in a^ confused, bewildered state of mind. 
These were new and startling truths to her, how- 
ever common place they might be to others. It 
is rather a strange circumstance to relate — so 
strange that our reader may feel somewhat dis- 
posed to doubt the truth of the statement — that 
here was a young lady well educated who had 
been living almost in sight of churches all her 
life ; and yet had never heard the story of the 
cross. Still this circumstance ought not to be 
regarded as beyond the bounds of probability, 
when it was the boast of a prominent member of 
the Congress of these United States, between the 
years 1870 and 1880, that his grown daughters 
had never been inside of a church in their lives. 
Our reader, therefore, has no need to wonder 
that Junie Paine had never before heard a sermon. 
It would seem that she might have learned some- 
thing in regard to this subject from her Christian 


FIERY TRIALS. 


1 12 

mother ; but that poor woman through fear of 
her unbelieving husband had not dared to men- 
tion the all-important matter to her children. 

Junie being of a reflective turn of mind, thought 
and thought, while she was on the way home, 
over the strange truths which she had heard that 
day. Milson was not in a talking mood. So 
little was said about the sermon. The most of 
the half-hour’s ride was made in silence. 

When the parties were getting out of their 
buggies at the front grate of Col. Paine’s resi- 
dence, a poor woman came up leading a little hoy. 
Both were clad in rags, and the general appear- 
ance of both indicated that they had had a hard 
struggle with the ills of life. The old woman 
in feeble voice asked for alms. Miss Gerie cast 
upon her a look of scorn, which both of the 
young men observed. 

^Tve worked till I am sick,” continued the 
poor creature, ^‘but I can’t make enough to sup- 
port myself and little boy. We are forced to 
beg.” 

The little fellow was gnawing away on a piece 
of corn bread which he held in his much soiled 
hands. Gerie manifested very plainly by her 
manner that she had no sympathy for these 
objects of charity. 

^‘Wait a moment, poor woman,” cried Junie 
before any of the party had time to reply, will 
give you something.” At once she ran into the 
house. 


FIERY TRIALS. 113 

^^Just look/’ exclaimed Gerie, ^^how easily 
sister is gulled. She would give half she had 
to any impostor that might chose to ask her.” 

Junie soon returned and placed in the old lady’s 
hands a dollar. An expression of gratitude lit 
up her wrinkled face as she exclaimed : 

^^May Heaven bless you, good child ; you look 
like an angel.” 

‘‘No doubt,” said Gerie with a laugh, “all of 
us would look like ‘ angels ’ if we should treat 
you in the same way.” 

Milson looked at the idol of his heart in utter 
amazement. Here was one phase of her character 
Avhich had, for lack of opportunity of develop- 
ment, escaped his observation. He was aston- 
ished and pained at such an exhibition of heart- 
lessness. From the bottom of his heart he did 
wish that Gerie had the noble disposition of her 
sister Junie. True, if the old woman were an 
impostor, he thought Gerie had no right to insult 
her. In spite of all the excuses which his affec- 
tion prompted him to make for her, her manner 
made a disagreeable impression upon him. He 
was somewhat surprised that Gerie had so little 
policy as to act as she had in the presence of 
himself and Bertram. She might at least have 
pretended to be sympathetic. But she did not 
seem to be aware that she had done or said any- 
thing which could elicit the slightest criticism. 

After dinner, the details of which can be of no 
interest, the young people were seated in the 


FIERY TRIALS. 


1 14 

parlor. They had scarcely taken their positions 
before Bertram said : 

‘ ^^What did you all think of the sermon to-day?” 

^‘What is your opinion of it, Mr. Bertram?” 
asked Junie who was really curious to know what 
he did think. 

^T think of it just as I do of all others. They 
are mere tricks designed to frighten people.” 

^^But why should people be frightened ? What 
is to be gained by it?” asked Junie. 

^‘Umph ! ” said Bertram. am surprised that 
anyone should ask such a question. Don’t you 
know that the preachers gain their livelihood from 
those who can be duped into believing such non- 
sense as you heard to-day ? Didn’t you see them 
hand round the hat ? ” 

^Wes, sir.” 

^‘Well the preacher will take that money and 
have a gay time till next Sunday.” 

^^But, Mr. Bertram,” said Milson, ‘^you seem 
to forget that Dr. Archer stated that the collec- 
tion was for the benefit of Foreign Missions.” 

^‘Oh ! I know he said so. But how do we 
know that he will not apply it to his own use? 
Well, I shall not allow them to work on my fears. 
I flatter myself that I am proof against such 
superstitions.” 

^^So do I, Mr, Bertram,” quickly exclaimed 
Miss Gerie. ‘T really paid little attention to 
what the preacher was saying. I could now and 
then catch the words Gmpostor, fanatic, and Son 


FIERY TRIALS. 


115 

of God.’ I was more interested in looking' at 
the people than listening to the preacher. Some 
of them tried to put on such solemn airs. I 
thought it was really funny.” 

Milson gazed at Gerie in surprise. He won- 
dered if it were possible for anyone with ordinary 
intelligence and even a moderate appreciation of 
oratory, to feel no interest in such a fine speaker 
as Dr. Archer, leaving out entirely the subject of 
his discourse. He was sorry that Gerie had so 
plainly disclosed her want of taste. He had 
never heard her talk in this way before. But he 
did not seem to consider that the young lady 
herself thought that her hearty endorsement of 
Bertram’s opinions would elevate her in his esti- 
mation. She was under the impression that the 
worst thing she could say about the Christian 
religion would be agreeable to him. She cared 
nothing for the opinion which Milson might form 
of her. 

So John just looked at her in surprised, and at 
the same time he thought of the scene at the 
gate when the poor beggar had made her appeal 
for alms. 

^^John,” said Miss Gerie, ^^what did you think 
of the sermon ? ” 

Milson did not reply for a moment. All three 
turned their eyes toward him as if awaiting his 
answer. 

must say,” at length he replied, ^That I 


i6 


FIERY TRIALS. 


thought it excellent as an argumentative com- 
position.” 

^‘Why, Milson,” exclaimed Bertram with a 
manifestation of surprise ; ‘^^how can you say that? 
— a man of your taste and judgement.” 

do not hesitate to affirm,” slowly answered 
Milson,” that the argument appeared to me to be 
good.” 

‘^Well,” said Bertram, saw no argument in 
it from beginning to end, and I paid close atten- 
tion.” 

^AVhat do you say to his propositions ?” asked 
Milson. ^‘Were they not true ? ” 

^^Yes, in one sense. Such propositions with 
some modifications may be made in regard to 
almost any public character. I can prove that 
Julius Caesar was the Son of God, if you will 
allow me to assume just what I please. The 
preacher’s arguments to-day w^ere good, I admit, 
if you grant his premises. But he assumed the 
very thing in dispute. I deny his third proposi- 
tion that Jesus Christ was the Son of God.” 

^’’Because,” interrupted Gerie with a laugh, 
‘There can’t be a son of anything which has no 
existence.” 

^‘Very true,” responded Bertram joining in the 
laugh. 

Milson looked at both of them as if he did 
not at all relish such irreverence. At this point 
Miss Junie said : 

^^Well, Mr. Bertram, in spite of your ridicule 


FIERY TRIALS. ii; 

I confess that the sermon has made an impression 
on me. I think, though I do not profess to be a 
critic, that the preacher’s arguments were good. 
I do not see how it is |tossible to dispute the 
propositions which he laid down in the outset. It 
did not occur to me that he assumed that Jesus 
Christ was the Son of God. If you admit that 
only three opinions can be formed of Christ ; and 
it can be shown that two of them are false, then 
the third is bound to be true, and I do not see 
on what logical principle you can dispute it.” 

I can easily dispute all his propositions on the 
principle that the entire history of Jesus Christ 
is a fable. In fact no such person ever really 
existed.” 

It will be perceived that Bertram took the ex- 
treme position of infidelity. Some of the more 
daring and desperate kind of unbelievers have, 
in different ages of the world persisted iti deny- 
ing, with the most reckless audacity, tl^^ very 
existence of Jesus. - ' 

^^Why, Mr. Bertram,” exclaimed Junie, am 
surprised to hear a man of your intelligence 
make such an assertion as that. As little as I 
know in regard to the subject, it seems to me 
that it can easily be proved that there was such 
a person. I have never read the Bible ; but I 
have seen the name of Jesus Christ mentioned in 
other books which are regarded as good authority 
by everybody.” 

^^y/hat books !” exclaimed Bertram, will 


ii8 FIERY TRL^LS. 

be bound it was some book, or books written by 
Christians.” 

think” said Junie ‘Hhat the Latin historian 
Tacitus says something about him, though I don’t 
remember just what it was. Do you Mr. Mil- 
son?” 

^‘Why certainly” replied Milson ^^Tacitus does 
mention him, as a real person too. If I had the 
book I could easil}^ find the passage.” 

Produce your proof,” said Bertram, 
have the book” said Junie. ‘ Jf you will 
excuse me a moment I will get it, and we will 
soon see.” 

Junie then went into the Library and soon re- 
turned with a book which she handed to Milson, 
who turned over a few leaves and then said, ^fiiere 
it is Miss Junie. You can translate it for us.” 
think I can.” 

Then she took the book and read as follows : 

‘^Nero, in order to stifle the rumor of his hav- 
ing set Borne on fire, ascribed it to those persons 
who were hated for their wicked practices and 
called by the vulgar, Christians. The author of 
this name was one Christ, who, in the reign of 
Tiberius, was brought to punishment by the pro- 
curator Pontius Pilate.” 

^^Now, Mr. Bertram,” said Junie, ^Svhat do 
you say. Will you affirm that Tacitus wrote a 
falsehood?” 

^^No,” answered Bertram, am bound to ac- 
cept Tacitus as reliable authority. But he seems 


fierv trials. 


19 


to have a contemptible opinion of Christ and his 
followers. He says they were hated for their 
wicked practices.” 

‘^‘That is neither here nor there” suid Junie. 
‘‘We are not discussing that point. You say that 
no such person ever lived, and Tacitus says he 
did. Which is right, you or the historian who 
lived very near the time of Jesus Christ?” 

“Well,” said Bertram who was not at all famil- 
iar with the most common evidences of Christi- 
anity, “perhaps I was a little too fast. It is a 
matter of no importance, even if Christ had a 
real existence. Tacitus says so, and I will have 
to give up that point. But you notice that he 
does not by any means say that Christ was the 
Son of God. So your preacher can get no com- 
fort from that quarter.” 

“If I understood him,” answered Junie, “he did 
not seek ‘comfort’ as you call it from that, or any 
similar source. But I do not know enough about 
it, Mr. Bertram, to discuss the subject. But I 
intend to investigate as the preacher told us it 
was our duty to do.” 

“So do I,” said Milson; “Because, as Dr. Ar- 
cher said, if there is any truth at all in the Bible, 
it is the most important of all things.” 

“Well, I declare, John,” said Gerie laughing, 
“I believe you and Junie will both turn Christian 
yet.” 

“I am willing,” said Milson, “to accept the 
truth, no matter what it may be. If I am con- 


120 FIERY TRIALS. 

vinced that Christians have the truth I will em- 
brace it.” 

''So will I/’ said Junie. "The preacher’s words 
are 3’et ringing in my ears. I wish I knew what 
to do.” 

'•Junie,” said Gerie, "are you going crazy? 
You’d better not go to church any more, if that’s 
the way it serves you.” 

"Why don’t you read the Bible?” asked Ber- 
tram. "That will tell you what to do, if you 
want to join the Christians.” 

"There is not a Bible about this house,” said 
Junie, "that ever I saw.” 

"And I hope there never will be,” interrupted 
Gerie, "as long as I am in it. Father sa^^s it is 
a nonsensical book, and I am willing to take his 
word for it. I have no use for Bibles and Chris- 
tians; have you, Mr. Bertram?” w 

"Not I,” answered Bertram. "I shall not sur- 
render my liberties to any institution, especially 
tb that called the church.” 

"I do not see” said Junie, "that Christians 
are such bad people.” 

"I did not say they are bad people. In fact 
most of them are very good people. But my 
opinion is they are slaves to a superstition. I 
can never regard the Christian religion as any- 
thing else.” 

Then Bertram changed the topic of conversa- 
tion. It was a subject about which he knew very 
little, and about which he did not care to know 


FIERY TRIALS. 


I2I 


aay thing. So there was not another allusion to 
the sermon during the evening. Toward night 
the young men took their leave. Junie at once 
sought her mother, who she remembered was cal- 
led a Christian. Dr. Archer’s sermon had made 
a profound impression on her mind, and having 
no one else to consult she determined to ask her 
mother in regard to her mental troubles. So that 
evening, soon after the young men had gone she 
found her parent alone . 

^‘Mother,” she said, have been to church 
to-day.” 

Mrs. Paine looked at her daughter in some 
surprise, but in a tone of inquiry she merely said, 
^‘Well ? ” 

^^Well, I heard something which perplexes me 
no little. You have never told me that you are 
a Christiam ; but I have heard others say so.” 

At this Mrs. Paine burst into tears. 

‘^Moth^r, what are you crying about? I have 
come to talk with you, and I do wish you would 
not cry so. I am in trouble, and if you can I 
want you to relieve me.” 

‘^My child,” said the poor woman making an 
effort to restore her tranquility, ^Tor years I have 
lived in torment. Oh, Junie you cannot imagine 
what I have suffered. I now plainly see my 
error, yes my sin, and I hope God will forgive 
me for having so neglected the religious instruc- 
tion of my children. But don’t you know that 
your father would never permit me to talk to 


122 


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you about God ? ” 

‘T know that father says there is no God. I 
have frequently heard him say that, and he spoke 
very positively as if he knew. I have never 
thought much about it and have never cared 
much about it. But Mr. Milson has convinced 
me that there is a God. On that subject I have 
not a single doubt. Mr. Milson is the first one 
that I ever heard affirm that there is a personal 
God who created all things.” 

^‘May the Lord bless that noble boy,” cried 
Mrs. Paine while the tears again welled up to 
her eyes. ^‘He will do to trust; but go on, my 
43hild ; what is it you want to talk with me 
about ? ” 

‘‘Well, to-day we went to church — the first 
time, mother, I ever did such a thing. The ser- 
mon was in reference to Jesus Christ whom the 
preacher tried to prove to be the Son of God. 
His arguments were very clear ; but I am not 
satisfied — I am bewildered — I don’t just exactly 
know what to think. The preacher in the most 
awful manner said if we did not believe on Christ, 
we would go to hell. This I do not clearly com- 
prehend, What is hell, mother ? ” 

“Oh, my God!” forgive me!” exclaimed poor 
Mrs. Paine clasping and Avringing her hands in 
indescribable agony. 

“Why, mother,” said Junie in amazement, 
“what is the matter? Why can’t you talk to me 
quietly?” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


123 


child, I fear that God will never pardon 
my neglect of duty. I ought to have told you 
all about this before. Just to think that my 
dear children are so ignorant of the most im- 
portant subject on earth. Oh, God of Grace! 
look down in pity on me a poor wretched mortal 
that has so grievously erred. Forgive, oh, blessed 
Lord, forgive ! ” 

Jimie looked at her mother in astonishment. 

‘^Well, mother if you can’t talk quietly on the 
subject I will say no more about it.” 

^‘Bear with me, Junie, my dear child. You 
can’t imagine what a mountain load is pressin^: 
on my heart. But, go on ; I will try to be calm.” 

^‘Well, then,” said Junie, ‘hn my reading I 
have frequently met Avith observations in regaid 
to Tartarus, and Hell and Heaven. But I have 
never thought of myself in connection with the 
matter. Noav tell me what hell is and how does 
it concern me ; Avhat have I to do Avith it ? ” 

^^Hell,” said Mrs. Paine Avith a very perceptible 
shudder, ^^is a place Avhere the Avicked are pun- 
ished ; it is a lake that burns Avith fire and brim- 
stone — Avhere not a single ray of hope ever comes 
— Avhere there is nothing hut sorroAA^, gloom, 
suffering, death ; Avhere the conscience burns 
Avith more than the heat of a furnace ; Avhere 
there is no love, no joy, no peace ; Avhere God- 
hating fiends chase the lost soul through the 
illimitable regions of dark despair ; where no 
voice of friendship is ever heard ; Avhere every 


FIERY TRIALS. 


124 

sound jars like a thunder-crash ; where wild wails 
and mad shrieks go up with the smoke of torment 
that ascendeth forever, Oh^ Junie, I can’t de- 
scribe hell. Avoid it, child, avoid it. Into that 
awful place shall all the ungodly be cast ; and 
they can never come out, Alas ! there is no 
escape.” 

^AVhen, mother, are they cast into hell ? ” 

^‘After death.” 

have often heard father say when we die, that 
is the last of us.” 

Your father, my dear, is an intelligent man ; 
but he is certainly mistaken about this matter. 
We have souls which leave the body at death, 
and go either to Heaven or Hell. At the judge- 
ment day the Lord Jesus Christ will come to 
earth again ; and then our bodies will come forth 
from the grave, and we will all live again in a 
state of happiness or misery. We will go to 
Heaven with the holy angels, or to Hell to dwell 
with fiends forever. This short life of ours is 
merely a probationary state. We are placed here 
by the Allwise God to prepare for the eternal 
life.” 

‘‘Where will I go, mother, when I die?” 

Mrs. Paine made an effort to restrain her tears, 
at this question. She was partially successful. 
She answered in a voice trembling with deep 
emotion. 

“I hope and pray, my child, that you will go 
to Heaven ; you certainly will, if you will do 


FIERY TRIALS. 


125 


what Jesus so plainly and lovingly tells you to do.” 

^^And what is it he tells me ? What must I 
do?” 

Poor, ignorant Junie, ignorant almost as a 
heathen, asked a question which is natural to 
the human heart. All men living, under the 
highest and lowest forms of civilization feel that 
there is something wrong about them ; and realize 
the necessity of doing something in order to he 
saved. All along the track of time, from the 
fall of Adam to the present day, the question 
has been anxiously and earnestly asked by mil- 
lions of trembling human souls, ^‘What must I 
do ? ” There is a feeling of sinfulness in man, 
which no human pliilosophy can explain. Men 
may try to deny it; but their own conscience 
rises up as a witness against them. True they 
may not have clear conceptions of what consti- 
tutes sin ; yet there is in the heart a conscious- 
ness of wrongness of some sort. No science can 
explain this except the science of that one book 
in which God has made a revelation of himself to 
men. 

‘^What must I do?” asked Junie. 

‘^You must be a true Christian,” replied her 
mother. 

^^And how must I be a Christian ?” 

^‘You must repent of your sins ; you must be 
sorry on account of your sins.” 

^^My sins,” interrupted Junie. ^^What sort of 
sins ? What are my sins? ” 


126 


FIERY TRIALS. 


Junie, Juiiie,” cried the unhappy woman. 
^Ts it possible you do not know ? ” 

^<Why, mother, no one ever told me about my 
sins. How should I know? ” 

‘^Gh, God of Truth! have mercy on me 1” cried 
Mrs. Paine, giving way to another paroxysm of 
grief. ^^Oh, blessed Saviour! forgive a miserable 
wretch who has so grievously and sinfully neg- 
lected her children ! ” 

“Mother,” said the young lady in a state of 
bewilderment, “it seems that you cannot talk 
quietly on this subject. But tell me, how did 
you learn so much about it ? ” 

“The Bible, my daughter, gives us all the in- 
formation that is necessary.” 

“Then, mother, show me the Bible. I have 
never examined one. Let me read it for myself.” 

“Your father years ago burned up every Bible 
he could find about the place. However I man- 
aged to save a small Testament which I keep con- 
cealed, and which I have to read by stealth.” 

Mrs. Paine then went to a trunk from the very 
bottom of which under a pile of clothing she 
drew forth a very small New Testament which 
she handed to Junie. 

“Do not, my child, let your father see it. If 
you do, it will make trouble for us both. Bead 
it through, and you will be able to form, clearer 
views of your duty than I can tell you. But if 
you still have any doubts,. I think it would be 
advisable for you to call on the preacher whom 


FIERY TRIALS. 


127 

you heard to-day^ and he will* tell you what to 
do.” 

^‘How can he tell me any better than you can, 
mother ? ” 

^^Because this is his business. He studies 
more on the subject than other people do. There 
are some difficulties connected with the Christian 
religion which he can explain much better than 
I can.” 

should like very much to ask him some 
questions,” said Junie. 

^^Well, he would be delighted to see you,” said 
Mrs. Paine, ‘^and would take the greatest pleas- 
ure in answering your questions. Nothing affords 
a true minister more pleasure than to tell people 
what to do to be saved. You need have no fear 
in calling on him. I would be glad if you would 
form his acquaintance, as he is no doubt capable 
of giving you good advice and removing the dif- 
ficulties with which you will most certainly meet. 
But read this book through first; and while you 
read pray God to enlighten your mind by his 
Holy Spirit that you may understand his truth.” 

Miss Junie, without saying more took the little 
volume, and hastened to her own room, and locked 
the door. Then she sat down to read. She 
pored over it till supper ; and after supper she 
continued to read. It was nothing at all surpris- 
ing to Miss Gerie to see her sister thus engaged. 
So she asked no questions. 

Junie read the New Testament till late in the 


128 


FIERY TRIALS 


night. Then she closed the hook and sat in deep 
meditation. Having a most excellent memory 
she could easily recall the wonderful incidents of 
the life of Jesus. We, who have a Bible in every 
apartment of our dwellings can scarcely imagine 
with what avidity and eagerness she read the 
startling life of Christ as given by the inspired 
writers. We have heard the story of the cross 
so often that it makes but a slight impression 
upon us. We have been accustomed to hearing 
it ever since we could lisp our mothers’ names. 
But not so with Junie. The miracles of Jesus 
to her were astounding. But when she came to 
his trial and crucifixion, her feelings were far 
different from those of curiosity. Her imagina- 
tion transported her back to the fearful and 
sickening scene. She could see the silent prisoner 
standing before Pilate meek and humble — the 
soldiers smiting his unprotected form, as the blood 
trickled from his thorn-crowned head down to the 
dust — the God-man marching along the streets, 
faint, bleeding, reeling under the cross on which 
he was soon to die ; she could hear the stroke of 
the hammer as it sent the nail through his quiver- 
ing flesh — the jeers and maledictions of the 
mocking multitude — the loud, last cry, ^‘it is 
finished,” as it sounded out through the super- 
natural darkness. She felt in her very soul, like 
the Centurion, ‘^surely this was the Son of God.” 
Junie found herself in tears. Her thoughts were 
similar to those of the great Napoleon when he 


FIERY TRIALS. 


129 


said : “Everything in Christ astonishes me. His 
spirit over-awes me, and his will confounds me. 
His ideas and his sentiments, the truths which he 
announces, his manner of convincing, are not 
explained either by human observation, or the 
nature of things. His birth, and the history of 
his life; the profundity of his doctrine, which 
grapples the mightiest difficulties, and which is 
of those difficulties the most admirable solution ; 
his gospel ; his apparition ; his empire ; his march 
across the ages and the realms, — every thing is 
for me a prodigy, a mystery insoluble, which 
plunges me into a re very from which I cannot 
escape — a mystery which is there before my eyes, 
a mystery which I can neither deny nor explain. 
Here I see nothing human. The nearer I approach, 
the more carefully I examine. Every thing is 
above me. Every thing remains grand, — of a 
grandeur which overpowers. His religion is a 
revelation from an Intelligence which is certainly 
not that of man.” 

Junie felt all this; yet she knew not how to 
pray aright. If she could, she would have said 
in the language of the poet : 

“ My faith looks up to Thee, 

Thou Lamb of Calvary ; 

Saviour Divine, 

Now hear me while I pray; 

Take all my guilt away ; 

O let me from this day, 

Be wholly Thine. 


130 


FIERY TRIALS. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, 

Were he on earth, would hear, approve and own — 

Paul should himself desire me. I would trace 
His master-strokes and draw from his design, 

I would express him simple, grave, sincere ; 

In doctrine, uncorrupt, in language plain ; 

And plain in manner ; decent, solemn, chaste. 

And natural in gesture ; much impres’d 
Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, 

And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds 
May feel it too. Affectionate in look. 

And tender in address, as well becomes 
A messenger of grace to guilty men.” 

Thus wrote the poet. It is quite an easy mat- 
ter to portray the essential qualifications of a 
good preacher. Anybody can do that. But 
where can the man be found who combines, within 
the limits of his personal identity, all these qual- 
ities that can be so elegantly arrayed in solemn 
verse. The Lord Jesus was a grand preacher ; 
and yet, even he was far from pleasing all men. 
There never was a preacher who was more abused; 
and still he possessed in an eminent degree the 
very qualifications which Cowper so graphically 
describes. Even with the aid of the most stu- 
pendous and awful miracles that men ever beheld. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


131 

he did not succeed in persuading all his hearers 
to espouse his cause. No one is acquainted with 
the trials of the preacher, but the preacher him- 
self. The world no doubt thinks that he has an 
easy and nice time — nothing to do but to preach 
sermons on Sunday, and then visit among his 
friends during the remainder of the week. But the 
world sees only the outside. The world knows 
nothing of the prayers and tears which it costs to 
prepare a sermon — nothing of the heart-aches 
which are felt in the study and the closet. If 
the preacher’s work and cares ended with his 
sermons and visits the world might charge him 
with leading an indolent life. But the feeling of 
solemn and awful responsibility which pervades 
his soul and mingles Avith his thoughts, is not and 
cannot be appreciated by the Avorld. Often there 
is a distressing anxiety on account of the effects 
of his sermons. If the minister’s only aim Avere 
to secure popularity or fame as a scholar and an 
orator he might be content to let his sermons as 
literary productions pass for Avhat they are AAwth. 
But preaching the gospel is designed' for the 
achievement of higher and nobler ends than the 
gratification of public curiosity and captivating- 
people’s fancy by eloquence. The minister is a 
mouth-piece for God ; and he must gh^e account 
to God for his Avork on earth. Every sermon 
which he delivers must be accounted for at the 
Tribunal of Eternal Justice. Is it any wonder 
then that at times he is almost over-Avhelmed by 


132 


FIERY TRIALS. 


a feeling of deep and awful anxiety ? He has 
many discouragements of which the world dreams 
not. Often he feels that he is struggling against 
a wild, terrible tide which will overpower him in 
spite of all his efforts. It is like swimming up a 
swift stream that hurries onward and downward 
heavy drift-Avood in its current. The minister 
then does not wonder at the fact that Moses en- 
treated to be excused from acting in the capacity 
of leader of the Children of Israel. When 
he contemplates the difficulties and the responsi- 
bilities involved in his position of ^'messenger of 
grace to guilty men,” often he cries out in bit- 
terness of heart ^^vho is sufficient for these 
things?” Who is able to depict sin in such hor- 
rible colors as to make men turn from it with 
loathing ? Who is able to overcome their idiffer- 
ence to Eternal Things, and cause them to re- 
flect on the dangers of their situation. No won- 
der that often he feels like exclaiming with 
Moses ‘‘0 my Lord, send, I pray thee, by the 
hand of him Avhoni thou wilt send.” No Avonder 
that he often goes to the sacred desk in a state 
of dread at which the wicked would be surprised 
if they knew it. No Avonder that he often feels 
in the pulpit like closing the Bible and rushing 
out in despair ! 

Dr. Archer Avas sitting in his study Thursday 
evening folloAving the Sabbath on which Bertram 
and party attended his church. A train of re- 
flections someAvhat similar to that in which we 


FIERY TRIALS. 


133 

have taken the liberty to indulge was passing 
through his mind. He was endeavoring to ar- 
range subjects for the next Sabbath. He was 
wondering if his last sermon had had any effect 
in convincing the skeptical and in confirming 
Christians in their hopes ; and whether he would 
better preach any more such sermons, or just 
simply the plain gospel truth, on the assumption 
that all his hearers believed in its divine authen- 
ticity. Silently he was praying the Lord to di- 
rect him in the choice of topics. 

Just at this juncture he was informed that a 
young lady was in the parlor who desired to see 
him. At once he rose from his seat and pro- 
ceeded to the parlor. He beheld a visitor whom 
he knew not. Promptly the lady rose upon his 
entrance, and, with some confusion which did not 
escape the Doctor’s notice, said : 

presume. Dr. Archer, that you do not know 
me. My name is Junie Paine.’’ 

^^Are you the daughter of Col. Paine who re- 
sides two or three miles in the country ? ” 

am,” she said ; ^^and no doubt you are sur- 
prised at this visit from his daughter. For, if 
you have any acquaintance with my father, you 
cannot be ignorant of the fact that his views in 
regard to religious subjects, are very different 
from your own.” 

know it to my sorrow,” was the Doctor’s 
only reply. But after a moment, seeing that 
Junie was embarrassed he continued, your 


134 


FIERY TRIALS. 


father's views and mine are diametrically opposite 
on theological subjects. But pardon me if I ask, 
do you hold to your father’s notions on such 
subjects ?” 

do not,” she promptly replied, “and I have 
come to talk with you in regard to the matter. 
I hope you will pardon the liberty I have taken 
in trespassing on your valuable time.” 

“No apology is necessary at all, my child. I 
am really glad to meet you, if such is the object 
of your visit. If I can he of the least service 
to you. I am even anxious to converse with 
you ; for this is a part of my work. So I beg 
you to talk freely, and tell me your trouble, and 
with the help of God I will do all I can to render 
your visit not without profit. I beg you not to 
feel the least embarrassment in telling me your 
difficulties.” 

The Doctor spoke so kindly that Junie began 
to feel perfectly at ease. She felt that this man 
of God was in earnest, and could be trusted ; 
and still she realized the solemnity of the occa- 
sion. 

“I heard your sermon last Sunday,” she said, 
“and I will not conceal from you that I was deeply 
impressed with what you said. You appeared to 
believe every word you uttered.” 

“I did, and do, from the bottom of my heart.” 

“Well, if what you said is true, and I begin 
to believe that it is true, I find that the subject 
concerns ine. I feel that I have a personal interest 
in it.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


135 


you have, my child.” 

^^Doctor,” I am ashamed to tell you, a thing 
which is almost incredible, that I never read any 
portion of the Bible till last Sunday night.” 

If the Doctor felt any surprise at this informa- 
tion, he had too much consideration to manifest it. 

procured a New Testament, and I have read 
it through two or three time this week ; and now 
I am in trouble. I want to be a Christian like 
my mother is, and I do not know how.” 

Saying this, a flood of tears rushed to her 
eyes. Dr. Archer, who at once comprehended 
all her difficulties, was himself deeply moved, 
and he could have mingled his tears with hers. 
But he thought it prudent to betray no emotion. 

^'Now, I perceive,” he said as if talking to 
himself, ^That God is no respecter of persons. 
Now, my dear child, try to be calm ; and I will 
talk to you as I would to one of my own children. 
I am truly glad that you have come to me. It 
is one of the greatest pleasures I have on earth 
to talk with those who desire to find the Saviour. 
Now, religion is a sensible thing, as you will find 
after a while. It is not a kind of spurious senti- 
mentality. It involves thought as well as emotion. 
It demands the highest exercise of reason. That 
you may not be mistaken you must start right.” 

^^That is what I wish to do. Doctor.” 

‘‘Well, you appear now to be in the dark. 
But can you tell me what it is that prevents 


FIERY TRIALS. 


136 

your becoming a Christian ? What particular 
point gives you trouble?” 

can hardly tell. I am so ignorant in regard 
to the whole matter, that I am not certain as io 
the first step it is necessary to take. It seems 
to me that I am shut in by dark mountains, and 
know not where to look for light.” 

understand something of the difficulties by 
which you are beset,” replied Dr. Archer; ^ffiut 
it is sometimes the case that there are only one 
or two obstacles in the way;* and when these are 
removed, all is clear.” 

^^The whole subject,” answered Junie, ^‘appears 
to me to be wrapped in mystery. I have read 
the New Testament, as I told you; and while it 
seems to be plain ; yet there is something about 
it which I do not understand. Clouds seem to 
envelop me, through which I vaguely see. I am 
somehow unable to lay hold of anything tangible.” 

^‘You read in your Testament that the Lord 
Jesus says, ffiim that cometh unto me I will in 
nowise cast out.’” 

‘^Yes, sir; I read that or something similar to 
it.” 

^^Then, the first and only step is to come to 
Christ just as you are.” 

^^But I do not know how to come to Christ. I 
know not what is meant by it.” 

^^Well” said the Doctor while the suspicion 
crossed his mind that probably in this case the 
whole foundation might be wrong, from the young 


FIERY TRIALS. 


13 


lady’s unfortunate associations, ’^you believe in 
the Lord Jesus Christ, do you not?” 
suppose I do, sir.” 

You believe that he is the Son of God ?” 

^^Yes sir. Your argument last Sunday ap- 
peared to me to settle that point.” 

^‘Well then, if you are convinced that he is the 
Son of God, 3^ou will easily believe that He is 
God himself. There are three persons in the 
Holy Trinity, you know, — Father, Son, and Holy 
Ghost. You learned that doubtless from your 
Testament. The three are equal in power and 
glory.” 

^‘Yes, sir : I believe that.” 

‘AVell, do you believe that what you read in 
your Testament actually occurred ; that Jesus 
performed miracles such as healing the sick and 
raising the dead to life? and that he was cruci- 
fied, and that on the third day after his burial he 
rose from the grave and ascended into heaven ? 

may say I believe all this ; I have no reason 
to dispute it. The writers of the Testament 
appear to be honest men, I accept their state- 
ments as simple matter of history, though it is 
wonderful.” 

^‘Certainly it is wonderful,” replied Hr. Ar- 
cher. ^^The advent of a God into this world 
could not but be wonderful. The facts narrated 
by the sacred writers are really startling. But 
the plan of salvation is not difficult of compre- 
hension. What you have to do is to realize that 


FIERY TRIALS. 


138 

you are a sinner, and then put yourself in the 
hands of Christ, implicitly trusting in the merits 
of His atoning blood.” 

“But how am I such a sinner, Doctor?” 

“My child, the Holy Scripture well says that 
the ‘heart is deceitful above all things, and des- 
perately wicked.’ We cannot appreciate the depth 
of our depravity. Now to prove that you are a 
sinner, if you require proof, I ask you has it been 
the one purpose of your life to serve God ? ‘Thou 
shalt love the Lord with all thy soul and mind 
and strength,’ and with no wavering and no ces- 
sation — not even for a moment. Have you done 
this ? During the past few years of your life, 
have you thought of God at all ? He requires 
that he shall be the supreme object of your love. 
You say that you never read the Bible till last 
Sunday. Then it would seem that you have 
known really little about God and what he re- 
quires. It would appear that he has hardly been 
in your thoughts as an object of worship. I 
should judge, if you will pardon me for talking 
so plainly, that the only object of pursuit with 
you has been worldly pleasure.” 

“I will not deny it.” 

“I suppose,” continued Dr. Archer, “that you 
have paid little or no attention to the Sabbath 
day ; you have not attended divine service ; you 
have not associated with Christian people. Indeed, 
what have you done- that God requires ? Our 
blessed Lord says ‘if any man will come after 


FIERY TRIALS. 


139 


me, let him take up his cross and follow me.’ 
In the days of our Lord and of his Apostles, 
many of his disciples had to give up their pro- 
fessions and vocations when he could make them 
no promises of earthly good. In hearing the 
cross they had to wade through fire and blood ; 
they had to give up home, country, friends, and 
often life itself for Christ. Such heavy crosses 
they had to bear. Now how many crosses have 
you borne ? Where is your self-denial ? Accord- 
ing to your own account you have done nothing 
all your life but consult your own will and pleas- 
ure; you have been continually violating God’s 
holy law; and yet you cannot realize that you 
are a sinner ! ” 

‘‘Well,” said Junie, “I cannot defend myself ; 
but I did not know all this was wrong. But 
then, I have not committed any of those crimes 
of which the Bible speaks and which it forbids.” 

“No. That is no doubt true. Your hands are 
not stained with the blood of murder ; you are 
not an out-breaking sinner ; you are not a drunk- 
ard, nor a gambler, nor any of those flagrantly 
immoral characters that are under the ban of 
respectable society ; but the question is, have 
you obeyed God’s holy law ? Have you done 
every thing that he requires ? If you have not, 
my child, it is my solemn duty to tell you that 
you are sinner enough to exclude you. forever 
from Heaven — sinner enough to be condemned 
to the world of woe. While your position as a 


140 FIERY TRIALS. 

female has saved you from the commission of 
outrageous and shocking crimes; vet you will 
not dare to say that you have not violated God’s 
high and holy law. You have not broken the 
civil law, and have never been arraigned before 
the courts of your country ; but the civil law is 
not so exacting as the divine law. To keep God’s 
law as He requires, you must be absolutely per- 
fect in thought, Avord, and deed. Now you have 
never tried to serve God at all ; you have been 
all your life seeking your own pleasure ; and yet 
you cannot feel that you are a sinner.” 

^^Oh, Doctor, I begin to see my error. I see 
that I have not led the kind of life that God re- 
quires. I have not obeyed God’s law which 1 
had never thought of in the light you have pre- 
sented it. I see now plainly that I must render 
strict obedience to the divine law. If I live up 
to its requirements, then I shall be a Christian.” 

^‘My child,” said the Doctor speaking slowly 
and thoughtfully, ^^you are greatly mistaken in 
your conclusion. I am sorry that anything I 
have said may have led you to draw any such 
inference. You certainly misunderstand me. I- 
must then explain myself more. clearly. Now, 
to show you your error, suppose w^e grant that 
you succeed in keeping the law perfectly the 
remainder of your days how can you atone for 
your past offenses ? The law in itself offers no 
remedy when it is violated. Y^ou are already a 
guilty sinner before God. No doubt you feel 


FIERY TRIALS. 


141 

sorry that you have not been a Christian long ago, 
and that you have wasted so much time.” 

^Tes, Doctor, I am sorry enough,” replied Miss 
Janie, ‘T wish I had known some years since 
what I do now; I would have led a different life. 
I would have kept God’s law.” 

^‘But suppose I tell you that you are utterly 
incapable of obeying the law as God requires. 
Suppose I tell you that no one ever did keep it 
but the Lord Jesus.” 

^‘Why Dr. Archer, do you not obey the law ?” 

^•No, my child, not perfectly.” 

^^Then,” said Junie in surprise, ^^how can any 
one be save?” 

‘^No one will ever be saved on account of his 
own merits. Do all he can; live as uprightly as 
his depraved nature wdll permit, he can never de- 
serve salvation for anything he may have done.” 

The young lady looked a little confused. Hav- 
ing no religious experience, and no very definite 
views of the plan of salvation, it appeared to her 
that the preacher’s propositions and explanations 
were just a little marred with some incongruity. 
She could not somehow grasp his meaning. 

^^Did you not say, Dr. Archer, that I am a 
sinner because I had failed to obey the divine 
law ?” 

“You are sinful by nature, child. Your failure 
to keep God’s law shows to you that you are a 
sinner. You have never kept the law and I can- 
didly tell you that you never will.” 


142 


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^‘How then may I be a Christian ? I inferred 
from what you said that if I keep the law I will 
be a Christian.” 

‘Tf you keep it perfectly you will be saved, if 
you can get forgiveness for your past sins. But 
how will you do that ? The law in itself makes 
no provision for any infraction of it.” 

^‘My past sins, Dr. Archer, were committed in 
ignorance. I did not know that I was breaking 
God’s law. I ought not, it seems to me, to be 
held responsible under such circumstances. It 
certainly was no fault of mine. I do not see on 
what principle a just and merciful God can con- 
demn me for a failure to discharge duties that 
were unknown to me.” 

^‘Ybu do not seem to comprehend the design of 
the law” said Dr. Archer. ^‘You are trying to 
put yourself under the covenant of works. After 
the fall of Adam man was placed under a differ- 
ent covenant — the covenant of grace ; and in ac- 
cordance with the terms of that covenant we must 
be saved, if we are saved at all. I can hold out 
to you, my child, only one plan of salvation ; and 
that is through the merits of our Lord Jesus 
Christ. This plan seems to be disagreeable and 
even repulsive to the human heart. Somehow 
men want to earn salvation by their own works. 
They fondly imagine they can be saved by a strict 
compliance with the demands of the divine laAV 
— demands which even some angels did not obey. 
I tell you plainly that you can never be saved 
in that way. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


143 

Miss Junie’s attention was so distracted by her 
own thoughts that she did not catch the preach- 
er s meaning. 

^^But, Doctor, if I do not violate God’s law why 
can I not be saved ? Upon what principle can I 
be condemned ? It seems to me that I ought not 
to be punished any more than the citizen is, who 
is obedient to the civil law.” 

have already told you” replied the Doctor 
in the most kindly tone, and not manifesting the 
least impatience toward the young lady whose 
ignorance he pitied, ^That the demands of God’s 
law are much higher than those of the civil law. 
Y"ou must not break the divine law in the least 
parti(.*ular. Human law gives you much wider 
latitude. Sortie of the civil laws you might vio- 
late with impunity ; because it could not be le- 
gally proved that you were guilty. But it is far 
otherwise in the case of the divine law. The 
great God takes notice of all our thoughts. In 
the language of the Scriptures ^There is not a 
word upon our tongue, but lo, 0 Lord thou 
knowest it altogether.’ If you undertake to be 
saved according to the terms of the divine law 
you must not infringe it in the slightest particular. 
Every deed which you perform must be in accor- 
dance with the law. Every word you utter must 
be such as the Lord will approve ; you cannot in- 
dulge in any idle conversation; you will have to 
measure your words with more care than if they 
were gold. Possibly in these respects you might 


FIERY TRIALS. 


144 

succeed ; you certainly could do so by avoiding 
all company, provided your very seclusion from 
society should not be an infraction of the law. 
At any rate by this course you could avoid the 
use of all idle words. But, my child, God’s law 
does not terminate with these demands. You 
must not have a single thought, nor a single de- 
sire which is contrary to its letter and spirit. 
Even a wish to be freed from its demands would 
be an infraction of it. And now with this view 
I ask you if you believe that you are capable 
of keeping it ?” 

^‘With my understanding of it,” she said, ‘T 
think I am.” 

Poor Junie did not know her own heart and 
her own weakness. Dr. Archer was fearful that 
she was too self-willed and self-confident. Despite 
of his explanations, which he had tried to make 
free from the least abstruseness, she seemed dis- 
posed to cling to an error which was very palpable 
to him. He began to fear that she would have 
to be convinced of her weakness by actual ex- 
periment. He would not recommend such a 
course; but he thought the young lady would 
never be satisfied till she had tried it. So he 
said after a moment : 

“I hold up Jesus Christ to you, my dear child, 
as the only hope of salvation. There is no other 
name given under heaven among men whereby 
we must be saved. If you cannot trust him, I 
can point to no other foundation upon which you 
may ground your hopes.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


145 

^•Do I understand you to mean that a Christian 
is free from the law ? ” 

hope you have not understood me to say 
that. I tell you that you are obliged to obey it. 
It is our rule of duty. But you must not trust 
to it as a means of justification ; you must not 
rely on your obedience for salvation. Let your 
whole trust be in our blessed Redeemer. If not, 
you will be bitterly disappointed.” 

Dr. Archer perceived from the puzzled expres- 
sion of Miss Junie’s fiice that she did not 
clearly comprehend his meaning. It occurred to 
him that she would have to be gradually led into 
the light. Any more instruction at this time 
might only add to her confusion. He concluded 
that he had said enough. 

will,” he said presently, ^‘lend you a Com- 
mentary with some passages which I will mark. 
I beg you to read them carefully and study over 
them. You must also read the Old Testament ; 
for it seems you have not read that.” 

^‘No sir ; I have had no opportunity.” 

‘^^Here then,” said Dr. Archer rising and ap- 
proaching a table and taking from it a book, ^fis 
a Bible which you may call your own, if you will 
accept it.” 

^‘Thank you. Doctor,” said Junie. assure 
you I shall prize it very highly, coming from such 
a source.” 

^^And now, my child,” suddenly said the 
preacher, ^^have you ever prayed ? ” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


146 

do not know, Doctor, that I ever have in the 
right manner. I am ashamed of my ignorance.” 

^^Well then before we part I must pray with 
you. You can never free yourself from the 
meshes of doubt without prayer. I do not believe 
any man ever reasoned himself out of skepticism 
and unbelief. Prayer is the medium through 
which God conveys his blessings to men. We 
must have the Holy Spirit to show us the path 
of truth. Let us kneel down right here and ask 
God’s blessing, and pray Him to give you a 
greater measure of His spirit.” 

Accordingly the two knelt down in Dr. Arch- 
er’s parlor on that Thursday evening ; and the 
preacher offered up a most feeling petition for 
this young lady who was wandering under clouds 
of doubt and temptation. He prayed the Lord 
to guide her feet into the path of all truth, and 
to enlighten her mind by a more abundant out- 
pouring of the Holy Spirit, and that she might 
be enable to form more clear and definite views 
of the plan of salvation, and that at least she 
might be gathered with the redeemed in the 
blessed land of eternal joy, and peace and love. 

Miss Junie listened with the closest attention 
to the Doctor’s prayer, and treasured up his words 
in her memory. So she learned something of the 
nature of private prayer. 

After this the Doctor went into his study and 
returned with a book. 

^‘Now I beg you,” he said, read these pas- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


147 


sages which I have marked out and the author’s 
comments on them. But above all things go to 
the Lord in prayer, cast your burdens on Him, 
and trust all to Christ. You must call again 
soon, if you are not relieved of your troubles and 
doubts. I will be delighted to talk with you 
whenever you feel that you need advice.” 

Miss Junie then cordially thanked the Doctor, 
and took her leave, saying that she would avail 
herself of his permission to call again. Doctor 
Archer was satisfied in his own mind that it 
would not be long before she would return. lie 
believed that the Holy Spirit was gradually lead- 
ing her along, and he felt confident that she would 
soon rejoice in the possession of that peace which 
^^passeth all understanding.” Then he also felt 
that his last sermon had not been in vain. Here 
he believed was one soul that would be a star in 
his crown of glory. He then went into his study 
and fell on his knees and thanked God for bless- 
ing his labor, even to the extent of saving one 
soul. Again he prayed for the young lady; that 
she might not long wander in darkness, but would 
soon rejoice in a Saviour’s love. 

Miss Junie, as she rolled along homeward in 
her carriage, knew not that she was still in the 
Doctor’s thoughts, and formed one of the subjects 
of his prayers. If she had, she would probably 
have felt like thanking God for casting her lot in 
the vicinity of such a preacher. When she ar- 
rived at home, she began at once to study the 
books that Dr. Archer had lent her. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


148 

Poor child ! she dreamed not of the awful trials 
which awaited her. She knew not that God often 
leads his children in the most thorny paths that 
they may be purified by affliction. It would not 
be long before she would have to drink the very 
dregs of a cup of bitterness, which would bring 
into requisition all the resources of Christian 
faith. 


CHAPTER IX. 

^'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is 
death,” says the Apostle. The great God him- 
self thus informs us that death is an enemy. It 
is in vain to attempt to persuade ourselves that 
that thing is a friend which our Heavenly Father 
tells us in the most emphatic manner is a foe. 
Death is one of the most unpleasant circum- 
stances that pertains to human existence. Some 
of our extravagant poets attempt to depict the 
charms of the tomb in flowing verse ; but with 
all their elegant versification they have never 
succeeded in persuading sensible people, and 
perhaps no other kind of people, to commit 
suicide for the purpose of enjoying the ghastly 
and sickly attraction of the grave. The truth 


FIERY TRIALS. 


149 

is, Death is the most dreadful of all foes that 
come in antagonism with physical life. There 
are some enemies with wliich proud man delights 
do contend ; but the ‘^grim monster” is a foe that 
he always most scrupulously avoids. Man turns 
pale at the very idea of a contest with this awful 
antagonist that is sure to gain the victory. Only 
let this invisible and silent enemy 'manifest his 
presence in some epidemic disease, and men 
tremble with alarm. It matters not how busily 
employed they may be, they at once leave off 
their pursuits and fly for life. They will sacrifice 
all their worldly stores ; they will retreat from 
pole to pole ; they will cross over seas and oceans; 
they will climb mountains ; they will hide in the 
trackless wilderness ; they will do anything to 
avoid a conflict with the King of Terrors, and it 
may well be added the terror of kings. The bare 
thought of submitting to the monster’s chilling 
embrace is fearful. There is that moldering into 
loathsome dust in the dark and dauk bottom of 
the grave — to be shut out from the genial sun- 
shine — to dwell with worms and creeping things 
— to hear no sound of music and no voice of 
friend — that long, long silence, never to be broken 
till the last trump shall arouse the countless 
dead — all this is shocking, revolting, horrible. 
None but those who have been bitterly disap- 
pointed with life — whose affections have been 
crushed — whose hearts have been broken — whose 
bodies are racked with pains — whose hopes have 


FIERY TRIALS. 


150 

been blighted — who groan under the pressure of 
intolerable burdens — can relish the idea of rest- 
ing in the grave. It is a house of refuge that no 
healthy person can desire. It seems that the 
demands of the monster can never be satisfied. 
His constant cry is, ^^give, give.” When he 
bears off his victims in the midst of tears, anguish 
and moans he cries out in unmerciful mockery, 
^^There is room yet.” Armies are swept off ; and 
it might seem the City of the Dead would be 
crowded to overflowing ; and still his harsh un- 
ceasing cry is, ^ffhere is room for more.” As we 
follow the remains of a fellow-being to the final 
resting place of decaying humanity. Death whis- 
pers in the ears of each one of us, ^‘There is a place 
for you.” It matters not with what rapidity the 
motionless dead are rushed into his dominions, 
he ever exclaims in derisive tones, ^^There is room 
yet.” Amid mourning, lamentation, wretched- 
ness, his horrid cry jars upon the ears of the 
living, driving out every joy from the heart, ^Hhere 
is room for more.” 

Death is an unmerciful enemy. No sentiment 
of compassion is ever aroused in the monster’s 
heart. He pays not the slightest regard to the 
circumstances of his helpless victims. We are 
placed here in a state of probation; but death 
soon puts an end to it. We may be so situated 
that we are not at all ready to depart, but it 
makes no difference. We may most ardently de- 
sire to linger for a while longer amid terrestrial 


FIERY TRIALS. 


51 


scenes, but he cares not. lie lays his icy hand 
upon us, and prostrates us in the midst of our 
pursuits and pleasures. No pleadings can induce 
him to pause for a single moment. We may cry 
out as did dying Queen Elizabeth, ^‘millions for 
an inch of time,” but death pays no heed to our 
prayer. His heart is. steeled against all sympa- 
thy and pity. He hears the wild screams of the 
despairing mother as she imprints the last kiss 
on the icy brow of her darling child ; and the deep 
groan of anguish wrung from the bleeding heart 
of the husband as he bends over the rigid form of 
a beloved wife ; and the pitiful, touching cries of 
poor little orphans, as they take the last look at 
the palid features of the dear mother, and are 
then led away from the coffin by weeping friends 
— Death hears all this, and yet betrays no 
emotion of pity. 

Death is a common enemy. No place, where 
there is life escapes his visits. From every coun- 
try grave-yard and every city cemetery a mys- 
terious voice comes to the passer-by, saying, 

“Ye living men, come view the ground, 

Where you must shortly lie.” 

Since the ^^grim monster” is thus empowered 
with such distressing ubiquity, and since he 
passes by no house-hold, our reader needs not be 
surprised at the information that the King of 
Terrors paid a visit to the residence of Col. Paine. 
The victim was Mrs. Paine. Early on Friday 
morning she was attacked by a most severe and 


FIERY TRIALS. 


152 

malignant disease, into the discussion of whose 
nature it is not necessary to enter. Her husband 
saw at once that she was in a dangerous condi- 
tion ; and immediately he called in his family 
physician. The appropriate medicines were ad- 
ministered ; and on Saturday there was a slight 
improvement in her condition. But the physician 
candidly informed Col. Paine that there was very 
little hope of his wife’s recovery. Then taking 
his leave he promised to return in a few hours. 

When the Doctor had gone Col. Paine went 
into the sick room. The wife called him to the 
bed-side, and then she said in a feeble voice, 

‘^My dear husband, I feel that my days are 
numbered.” 

hope not,” replied the Colonel. ‘‘You must 
not give way to despondency; but you must cheer 
up, and help nature to overcome the disease.” 

“The Colonel said this in a choking voice. For 
with all his faults he loved his wife; and the 
thought of her dying filled him with the deepest 
grief. 

“I am satisfied,” replied Mrs. Paine, “that I 
shall not be long with you. It grieves me to 
leave you and the children; but it cannot be 
prevented. No earthly power can save me. The 
premonitions of death are too plain to be mistaken. 
I must soon leave. And now before I go I have 
only one request to make. Will you grant it? 
My dear husband, do not refuse the last request 
I shall ever make in this world.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


153 

^^What is it ?” asked Col. Paine. it is in the 
bounds of reason it shall he complied with.” 

The Colonel made this remark because he per- 
ceiv^ed from his wife’s manner that the request 
was something unusual, 

^Tt is something which you can easily grant. 
It is very simple.” 

‘‘Let me hear it then.” 

“You may be surprised at my boldness in ask- 
ing such a favor ; but I want to see Dr. Archer, 
the preacher.” 

She had learned his name from Junie; and 
from the young lady’s description of the minister 
she had the utmost confidence in him. 

Col. Paine did not at once reply ; neither did 
he appear to be angry. He seemed to be in deep 
thought. 

“Husband, husband, let me see him before I 
die,” said Mrs. Paine in such imploring and 
earnest tones that Junie who with Gerie, was in 
the room, said while trying to conceal her emo- 
tions : 

“Oh, father, do not refuse. I cannot bear the 
thought that mother should not be gratified in 
this. What she asks is perfectly reasonable, and 
there is no impropriety in her request. Please 
send at once for Dr. Archer who is a refined 
irentleman, and who I know will come with 
pleasure. His visit will do mother no harm, if 
it does no good.” 

“Wife,” he said in no unkind tone, “you know 


154 


FIERY TRIALS. 


very well that I have no confidence in what you 
cjill religion ; you know that I believe it to be 
nothing but a delusion. Still I am not disposed 
to be harsh. I am willing to gratify you, but I 
fear to do so without the Doctor’s consent. The 
excitement which such an interview will no doubt 
produce, may be unfiivorable to your recovery.” 

^^Never mind that, husband. It may be better 
for me to see him. If my request is refused, I 
shall certainly grow rapidly worse. 0,” she ex- 
claimed clasping her hands with energy, must 
see the man of God before I die. Dear husband, 
send for him at once.” 

^Tf the Doctor will give his consent,” said Col. 
Paine, shall interpose no objection.” 

^^Bless you, my dear,” she said taking his hand. 
‘AVhere is the Doctor?” 

^Tle has just gone ; but will return in a few 
hours.” 

^^Oh, it may be too late. Send for the Doctor. 
Let me see him.” 

Fortunately, just at this moment the physician 
returned. He had thought of a direction in regard 
to the treatment of his patient wdiich he had 
failed to give. Col. Paine at once acquainted 
him with his wife’s request, at the same time 
remarking that he ^^did not want any religious 
scenes in the sick-room.” The physician studied 
for a moment and then said : 

^T wmuld like for her to be kept as quiet as 
possible. And still it may be best that she should 


FIERY TRIALS. 


155 


see Dr. Archer, who is a prudent and judicious 
man. She has some trouble on her mind which 
an interview with him might relieve. I am inti- 
mately acquainted with Dr. Archer, and you have 
no reason to fear ^scenes’ so far as he is con- 
cerned. So I think you would better gratify her 
in this particular.” 

Col. Paine at once dispatched a servant for Dr. 
Archer, and so informed his wife. The poor 
woman appeared to be inspired with new strength 
at the thought of conversing once more with a 
minister of God. Patiently she awaited his 
arrival. In the course of two hours Dr. Archer 
made his appearance. Col Paine spoke to him 
with civility, but manifested no particular warmth. 
They had frequently met; but Col. Paine had 
avoided all intercourse Avith the minister; and 
Dr. Archer did not care to impose his company 
on a man who showed so plainly that it was not 
desired. The Colonel remarked : 

^•My Avife is quite sick, sir, and has sent for 
you, for Avhat purpose, I kuoAV not. I hope 
you Avill avoid as much as possible every thing 
that may tend to produce mental excitement. I 
suppose hoAvever that I need hardly make a sug- 
gestion of this sort to a man of your experience 
and intelligence.” 

I understand,” said Dr. Archer. 1 fre- 
quently have such cases to deal Avith. I shall 
do nothing I assure you to cause any excitement. 
I hope by the Lord’s help I may succeed in re- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


156 

lievirig the lady’s mind of troubles, and this will 
be better for her physical condition.” 

Col. P?dne made no further remark; but both 
forthwith entered the sick-room where the preach- 
er was introduced to the suffering, *dying woman. 

‘^Madam,” he said at once, ^T regret to find 
you in this condition ; but I hope that ere long 
you will be restored to health. It is a pleasure 
however to me to visit you, and to be of any 
service of which I am capable.” 

At this point Col. Paine had the good sense to 
retire from the room that his wife might speak 
her mind with untrammeled freedom. She evi- 
dently did not wish him to be present as he could 
see from her manner. The two daughters were 
also on the point of leaving; but Mrs. Paine said, 

‘^Stay, my children, stay ; I have no objection 
to your hearing what I have to say ; in fact I 
want you to listen to my dying words.” 

‘T hope it may not be so bad as that, madam,” 
said Dr. xArcher. “You must not yield to despon- 
dent feelings. I pray God you may be spared 
to your family for many years yet,” 

“It is in vain, Dr. Archer to try to comfort me 
in that way. I feel that I have not long to live; 
and it is a waste of words to offer me consolation 
of an earthly character. This is not what I want. 
I have sent for you for a purpose which is of far 
more importance.” 

“Very well, madam; I shall not distract your 
attention from the subject which is of greater 


FIERY TRIALS. 


157 

importance. I am willing to serve you in any 
way I can. So feel no hesitation in expressing 
your mind freely.” 

^‘Doctor/’ said Mrs. Paine, ^^yoii are acquaint- 
ed with my husband?” 

^‘Not intimately, madam. I may say that I have 
only a passing acquaintance with him.” 

^AVell, then you know what his religious senti- 
ments are ?” 

^T have heard what they are ; but I would be 
glad to know that I have been misinformed.” 

^T am sorry to say. Doctor, that he is an infidel. 
He has been very good and kind to me during 
all our wedded life except in one particular; and 
that is I have been deprived of all church privi- 
leges. 0, you know not what it costs me to say 
this ; but the truth must be told. I have not 
been to church for many years. Doctor. But I 
have been guilty of a greater offense than this. 
I have neglected the religious instruction of my 
children. For this I will take the blame myself. 
I ought to have done my duty at all hazards. 
But the truth is. Doctor, I grew cold in the 
service of God. I was raised up by pious parents; 
and I professed religion when I was a small girl, 
and I thank God that I enjoj^ed the comforting 
influences of His Holy Spirit. But some years 
after my marriage I had to face difficulties which 
you can easily imagine, and I yielded to the force 
of circumstances which it seemed I could not 
control, and for which I did not regard myself as 


158 FIERY TRIALS. 

responsible. So I became careless. I lost my 
zeal, and wandered far off from God. Being in 
such a state I suffered my children to have their 
own way. I never did talk to them about God, 
Doctor ; I never told them of Christ ; I never ex- 
plained to them the nature of the Christian 
religion; I never told them of the danger of living 
in sin; I never tried to snatch them from the 
broad road to destruction ; I made no effort to 
lead them in the path of truth. This I might 
have done by example, if not by precept. But 
I failed ; and now I see the sad consequences. I 
ought to have discharged my duties; but now it 
is too late. My children have grown up scarcely 
believing there is any God.” 

^^Oh mother!” cried Junie while the tears were 
trickling down her cheeks, ^^do not talk so, I be- 
lieve with all my heart there is a God, and I am 
trying to obey him and love him. I am sorry 
that I did not begin sooner ; but in the future I 
am going to be a Christian like you.” 

^^Not like me,” said Mrs. Paine, ‘T want you 
to be a Christian ; but I pray God that you may 
lead a life far different from mine. I hope you 
may never be as lukewarm as I have been.” 

do not think,” said Dr. Archer, ^‘that you 
have need to give yourself any uneasiness on Miss 
Junie’s account. I have not the least doubt that 
she will soon be brought to a saving knowledge 
of the truth, if such is not already the fact.” 

am glad,” said Mrs. Paine, ‘To hear you 


FIERY TRIALS. 


59 


say so, Doctor. It is a consoling thought to me, 
that I will meet at least one of my dear children 
in heaven. Oh, may the Lord bless them, and 
open their eyes, and take them under the shadow 
of his wings.” Then she looked earnestly at Gerie, 
as if expecting some promise from her. The 
Doctor understood her, 

“Young lady,” he said, “can you not promise 
your mother that in the future you will endeavor 
to lead a Christian life ? ” 

Gerie looked sad ; but she was firm. Perhaps 
obstinate would be a more appropriate term. She 
did not care to talk on the subject ; but Dr. 
Archer’s question was so direct that she felt she 
would have to make a reply of some kind. 

“To tell you the plain truth, and you want me 
to speak the truth ? ” 

“Certainly,” answered Dr. Archer, “This is 
no time for trifling.” 

“Then,” said Gerie, “to tell you the plain truth, 
I have studied very little about the matter. 
Whether it is right or wrong, I have followed my 
father’s example ; I hold to his belief, and I have 
the very utmost confidence in his judgment.” 

Mrs. Paine looked at her erring, stubborn 
daughter with a sad expression, — so sad that it 
betokened an aching heart. 

Dr. Archer did not think it a proper time and 
place to try to convince her of her awful error. 
So he said only, 

“I am sorry that such is your belief.” 


i6o 


FIERY TRIALS. 


Then he turned to Mrs. Paine. 

^^God’s mercy, my dear madam, is very great. 
Though we may have neglected our duties, yet 
the Lord is ready to forgive when there is sincere 
repentance.” 

‘‘^Doctor, 3 "ou see the sad consequences of my 
neglect of duty,” said Mrs. Paine. ^Tf I had 
done what the Lord requires of every parent, I 
don’t think I would ever have heard one of my 
children avow a belief in Atheism. If I had 
my life to go over I should pursue a different 
course. But it is useless to talk of that now. 
The past cannot be changed. The years gone by 
can never be recalled. I have prayed God to 
forgive me ; and I believe, I feel in my soul that 
my pra^'ers have been heard and answered. So 
far as I am concerned, I die in peace.” 

‘^God be praised ! ” said Dr. Archer in a low 
tone. am glad that your faith .is so strong in 
the hour of trial. You feel in your heart that 
you can saj^, ‘ my Redeemer liveth ? ’ You 
feel that you can trust him under any circum- 
stances ? ” ' 

^‘That is my feeling, Doctor. I had waked up 
to a sense of my true situation before I was pros- 
trated by this disease, and I had formed plans of 
reformation. I felt that God had forgiven me 
before I was stricken down. I am not the least 
afrmd to trust my salvation to him. My fear. 
Doctor, is not for myself, but for my children. 
If I could believed that they would be rescued 


FIERY TRIALS. i6i 

from the iiiael-strom of Infidelity, I could die bet- 
ter satisfied.” 

“With God,” said Dr. Archer, “all things are 
possible.” 

“That is true” replied the suffering woman ; 
but the means which God has prescribed must be 
used. And now I want to do the only thing that 
occurs to me as a means for making at least some 
amends for my neglect. I have sent for you. 
Doctor, to beg you to look after my children 
when I am taken from them. I have no right to 
impose this task upon you. But then, it is your 
duty to save all that you can.” 

“I need no persuasion,” quickly replied Dr. 
Archer, “as to that matter. I am glad you have 
sent for me. You may rest assured that I will 
do everything im my power to lead your chil- 
dren to the Saviour, if I can by any possibility 
induce them to be led.” 

“I knew you would promise. Doctor; and may 
the Lord bless you in your efforts to save my 
poor, neglected children from eternal destruction. 
And 1 hope, my children will obey your instruc- 
tion and follow your advice,” she said in an ap- 
pealing manner to them. 

“Oh, mother,” said Junie who was crying as if 
her heart would break, “I will.” 

“And you Gerie?” said Mrs. Paine. 

The truth was, Miss Gerie had not been en- 
joying this conversation at all. To her it seemed 
to be foolishness. She would have left the room 


162 


FIERY TRIALS. 


if she could have done so without giving offense 
to her mother and her visitor. Scarcely knowing 
wditit answer to make, she said, 

will think about it mother.” And this was 
all the promise she would make. 

Mrs. Paine gazed into the beautiful face of her 
daughter while an expression of intense anxiety 
rested for a moment upon her own countenance, 
and then she turned her head sorrowfully away. 

‘^Now Dr. Archer” said the poor woman, ^ if 
you will pray with us I will detain you no 
longer.” 

Accordingly Dr. Archer and Junie knelt down 
by the bed-side; but Gerie merely leaned her 
head upon her hand. After the prayer, and after 
some further conversation. Dr. Archer took his 
leave proffering to call again, if desired. Col. 
Paine met him in the hall, and as the Doctor was 
preparing to depart, he took out his pocketbook 
and said : 

^^How much am I indebted to you. Doctor, for 
this visit?” 

The preacher gazed searchingly into his face 
as if to discover the motive underlying this ques- 
tion. But he could see no indication of derision 
or ridicule. The Colonel appeared to regard it 
as a mere business transaction. 

^T am sorry,” said Dr. Archer, “that you have 
such a poor opinion of ministers. Do you sup- 
pose that money is the only object we have in 
view ? ” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


163 

am sure,” said the Colonel with politeness, 
^That I have expressed to you no such opinion 
as that. I take the view, sir, that you are dis- 
charging the duties of your profession. I sent 
for you, and I have no right to your time without 
paying for it. I meant no offense in asking your 
charge for your services.” 

^^There are ministerial duties for which money 
cannot pay,” said Dr. Archer. came to offer 
to your suffering wife the consolations which re- 
ligion affords, and to sympathize with you and 
your family in your distress. If I have encour- 
aged the dying, or made any impression for good 
upon the living I am richly compensated for my 
time. As for your money I would not receive a 
cent of it. And if your wife again needs my 
poor services, you can command me night or day.” 

The Doctor said this with so much dignity and 
earnestness that Col. Paine could not but in his 
heart pay a tribute to his sincerity. At that 
moment, at least, he felt that Dr. Archer was an 
honest man. So when they parted he gave the 
Doctor a warmer grasp than was customary with 
him. But there was no further occasion for the 
ministerial services of Dr. Archer in that direc- 
tion. That interview was the first and the last 
he ever had with poor Mrs. Paine. That night 
she grew rapidly worse. It was apparent that 
the hour of her eternal departure had arrived ; 
and now husband and children were gathered 
around her bed-side. What Col. Paine’s thoughts 


i 64 fiery trials. 

were as he beheld the work of death we know 
not. Suddenly the dying woman exclaimed : 

^‘Do you hear that music? Where is it?” 

^^You are mistaken, dear wife” said Col. Paine; 
"There is no music. I hear nothing.” 

^^0, but I do hear music. Listen. It is the 
sweetest music I ever heard — now it is coming 
nearer. Do you not hear it ?” 

can hear nothing/’ said the husband. 

‘^Listen — it is coming nearer — nearer. Look” 
she suddenly exclaimed, ^^do you not see them?” 

see nothing,” answered Col. Paine ‘^but the 
children.” 

‘AVhy look at those beautiful beings — all 
clothed in white — harps in their hands — crowns 
on their heads.” 

Junie gazed at the pale features of her dying- 
mother while a feeling of awe crept over her. 
She imagined that she could almost hear the 
music, and almost see the heavenly visitors as 
they swept their fingers over the golden harps. 
Her imagiaation was so wrought upon that she 
almost expected to see them suddenly burst into 
the room. 

^‘Oh ! how lovely they are^ — here they come — 
now they are looking at me — they beckon to me 
to come. Where are you, husband — children? 
I cannot see you ! Are you gone ?” 

^Tlere we are, my dear,” answered Col Paine. 
^^Try to compose yourself. I hope you feel better 
now,” 


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165 


yes, so much better. Here they are — 
the room is full of them — welcome sweet angels 
— you have come for me? — I am ready.” 

Then she sprang up into a sitting posture in 
the bed, but immediately fell back — a corpse. 
A holy smile was settled upon her pale features 
which even the cold, iron fingers of Death could 
not efface. 

Junie gazed at the silent, motionless body, 
feeling in her heart that the released soul was 
now winging its flight with the angels to the God- 
built City of Light and Love and Liberty. Then 
realizing her own loss she threw herself on the 
bed in a paroxysm of grief. Presently the flood 
burst over, and her agony found vent in utter- 
ance: 

‘^Farewell, dear mother,” she cried as she im- 
printed a kiss on the icy brow. ^^By God’s grace 
I will meet thee in heaven where we will part no 
more. Thou hast gone with the angels; I doubt 
it not. I wish 1 could go with thee. I wish I 
too could hear the melody of the heavenly harps, 
and join the white-clad throng, and mingle my 
voice with theirs. Oh! God of my angel mother” 
she cried wringing her hands in agony, ^^have 
mercy on me. Oh! mother — gone! gone! gone !” 

Col. Paine and Gerie were both weeping bit- 
terly. They listened at what they regarded as 
the wild ravings of Junie; but they could not 
speak. At length Junie suddenly rose to her 
feet. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


1 66 

‘‘Father, father/' she cried, “let us all here by 
the corpse of my angel mother resolve that we 
will he Christians, and meet together after death 
in happier climes and amid fairer scenes.” 

“Junie,” said Col. Paine, now partly recovering 
himself,” you know not what you are saying. I 
have often told you there is no God. When 
death comes and carries us off to the grave, that 
is the ultimate destiny of humanity. This is but 
the stubborn truth, however disagreeable it may 
be.” 

“Father,” said Junie, “do you believe that 
poor mother in her dying moments just now was 
deceived ? Do you believe she saw nothing and 
heard nothing?” 

“Daughter,” said Col. Paine with sadness in 
his voice, “that was only a beautiful dream which 
frequently occurs amid the convulsions of death.” 

“Oh, father, say not so. I believe it was a 
blessed reality. I could almost hear the music 
of the angels, and the rustle of their wings. 
Father, this room is hallowed by heavenly influ- 
ences. I cannot believe dear mother was deceived. 
She was evidently in full possession of her facul- 
ties. 0, I believe it was a solemn reality. If 
not, God grant that when death comes to me, I 
may be favored with such a dream.” 

To this Col. Paine made no reply. He did 
not think it the proper time and place for the dis- 
cussion of such questions. He had heard it said 
that Christians sometimes die in this way; but 


FIERY TRIALS. 167 

this was the first instance that ever came under 
his observation. Were we to affirm that it made 
a deep impression upon his mind, we would state 
that which was not true. He thought his wife 
was laboring under a delusion, and that Junie 
would come to her senses in a few days. So he 
said nothing more on the subject, hut allowed the 
young lady to think and talk as she pleased. 

Often have God’s people departed from the 
world just as Mrs. Paine did. How shall we 
account for it ? Is it simply the wild raving of 
a feverish imagination ? If so, why is it that 
the ungodly never die in this manner ? Why is 
it that the wicked when leaving the shores of 
time cry out in such anguish as it is impossible 
to describe, that they are sinking into darkness ? 
Why is it that they complain of such horrid 
visions ? Why do they cry out, it ^fis a fearful 
leap in the dark ? ” If it is nothing but a mere 
fancy, why should the ungodly not fill their room 
with imaginary, beautiful beings ? It ought to 
be as easy to do this as to imagine that they are 
pursued by frightful hobgoblins. It is a matter 
of history that some infidels have died in this 
awTul manner. It is said that Voltaire’s death- 
bed scene was such that his nurse could never 
again he induced to enter a sick-room, where 
there was a prospect of death, through fear of 
witnessing such another sight. Many other such 
instances could he referred to. Now, why is it 
that Christians never witness these horrid visions 


1 68 


FIERY TRIALS. 


when they are wading through the chilling waters 
of death ? Let the infidel^ with his proud reason, 
explain the cause of the difference. 

Sunday evening the burial of Mrs. Paine was 
to take place. Dr. Archer had some reason to 
believe that he would be called on to conduct the 
obsequies. But he was much mistaken. Col. 
Paine had determined that he would be true to 
his principles under all circumstances. He had 
fully made up his mind that no minister of God 
should officiate. Following the custom of some 
of the ancients he resolved to attend to it him- 
self. So he prepared himself for it. 

The hour arrived ; and the corpse was placed 
in the hearse, and then the procession moved 
slowly on to Holly Springs. As it passed along 
the streets no bell was tolled. In silence the 
procession moved on till the cemetery was 
reached. Then after some preliminary arrange- 
ments when the coffin was about to be let down 
into its last resting place. Col. Paine advanced to 
the head of the grave and motioned with his 
hand. There was a pause. Then nerving him- 
self up to the exigencies of the occasion, he said : 

“My friends : you may think this a strange 
procedure on my part; and some may wonder at 
my departure from the custom of the day on such 
occasions. I shall not now attempt to give my 
reasons. As to the subjects which the present 
occasion naturally suggests we hold different 
views. The truth is none of us know what is the 


FIERY TRIALS. 169 

actual state of the dead. "VVe know nothing of 
the undiscovered country from whose bourne no 
traveler has ever returned. But one thing is cer- 
tain, Death cannot be any worse than Life ; and 
it may be better. We therefore have no reason 
to weep over the remains of our friends and loved 
ones, whose hearts have been touched by the 
monster death. They are at all events no worse 
off than we are. They are freed from all troubles 
and cares and sorrows. They are done with the 
wild storms that on all sides loom up above the 
horizon of the Living. Soon all of us must be 
brought to this state of Eternal Silence, which 
no enemy can ever disturb. We have little time 
for grief and still less reason for it. Standing 
here- under the broad, blue canopy of the skies I 
bid farewell to a beloved companion with whose 
dust my own shall soon mingle.” 

Col. Paine spoke these few words with a quiv- 
ering voice, and then stepped aside. Poor Junie 
listened with sorrow and mortification to this jin- 
gle of words in which there was not 'a ray of hope 
or comfort. 

The corpse was lowered down into its narrow 
prison house; and soon a little hillock of earth 
arose, the procession broke up, and the senseless 
remains of Mrs. Paine were left to rest in quiet 
till the resurrection morn. 


70 


FIERY TRIALS. 


CHAPTER X. 

One evening, a few days after the events nar- 
rated in the previous chapter, Miss Junie ordered 
the carriage. Since her mother’s death she had 
been rather depressed in spirits. She seemed to 
feel keenly that she was now left in a Godless 
household. The only Christian had been removed 
to a higher sphere of action. Between herself 
and the surviving members of the family there 
was no congeniality of religious sentiment; and 
she realized the fact with the most poignant 
sorrow. Her thoughts often wandered to that 
dear mother’s grave, — that mother, whom she 
was beginning to love with a deeper affection, as 
the Christian excellencies of her character were 
unveiled. She felt a sense of peculiar loneliness. 
Junie was in distress on account of her own con- 
dition ; and there was none in that house, which 
had bidden God depart, that she could consult. 
So she was compelled to seek relief and comfort 
away from home. As she was leaving, Gerie said: 

‘^Where are you going, sister ?” 

am going to call on Dr. Archer,” she replied; 
‘^and I wish I could induce you to accompany 


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i;i 


shall do no such thing,” replied Gerie, rather 
sharply. wish you could be persuaded to keep 
away from that preacher. If you follow his 
advice you will be perfectly miserable.” 

‘‘1 would rather be miserable in this world than 
in the next.” 

^Tn the next ! ” cried Gerie. ^‘What do you 
know about the next? 0, 1 Avish you would quit 
bothering yourself about the next world ; you 
know nothing at all about it; and I don’t believe 
there is any next world.” 

^‘Whether there is or not I believe it, and I 
have deliberately made up my mind to lead a 
Christian life. I am going to folloAV in the foot- 
steps of our dear mother, Avho I firmly believe 
is now Avith those beautiful angels she heard sing- 
ing around her death-bed.” 

^^Father told you that was all a delusion,” said 
Miss Gerie. 

cannot help it. I Avant to live so that when 
I die I may depart from this Avorld under just 
such a delusion. I too Avant to see the angels 
and hear their sweet music as I am quitting the 
shores of time. Whether it is a delusion or not, 
it Avill strip death of his terrors.” 

^^Sister,” said Gerie Avith seriousness, ^‘you are 
pursuing a fleeting phantom. You are going to 
make your life one long scene of gloom and 
AATetchedness. If you become a Christian you 
Avill have to give up all the pleasures of life. 
And for what? Nothing in the Avorld but a 


FIERY TRIALS. 


172 

foolish chimera. hird in the hand is worth 
two in the bush.’ As for me I know nothing 
about the hiext world’ as you call it, and I care 
nothing. This world is before me; it is all I 
know anything about, and I am going to enjoy 
its pleasures and avoid its miseries. A regard 
for my own happiness demands this course. 
What is the sense of just deliberately trying to 
make ourselves miserable. Why not try to be 
cheerful and happy ?” 

Then there was a momentary pause. 

will tell you what it is,” continued Gerie, 
^^John Milson has put all this silly stuff into your 
head. Y^ou used to be gay and happy till you 
went to church with him that Sunday.” 

At this accusation Junie’s face assumed the 
color of scarlet. 

^Wour charge, sister,” said Junie with an in- 
nocence which was not feigned, ^‘is without foun- 
dation. I confess what Mr. Milson said in regard 
to the existence of a personal God did put me to 
thinking. But it was Dr. Archer’s sermon which 
aroused my desire to find out the truth in refer- 
ence to the matter.” 

•’^Well,” said Gerie, ^^my opinion is that you 
would better let Dr. Archer and his sermons 
alone, and try to enjoy life. I would just as 
soon,” she added Avith a shake of her beautiful 
head, ^Tisk the judgment of father and Mr. Ber- 
tram as Dr. Archer. I think they are about as 
intelligent as he is.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


173 


‘^Mr. Bertram/’ said Junie mildly, ‘‘is no 
match for Mr. Milson in argument, much less Dr. 
Archer.” 

‘T do believe you are in love with John Milson. 
Well, you are welcome to him so far as I am 
concerned.” 

“I am not thinking of such things now,” an- 
swered Junie in a sad tone, “and I would be 
obliged if you wmuld not mention such subjects.” 
After a moment she continued. “Sister, you re- 
member our dear mother’s last request? ” 

“What about ? ” 

“She asked Dr. Archer to watch over her 
children. Will you not go with me then, and 
talk to him about your spiritual state ? ” 

“My spiritual state ! ” cried Gerie with a laugh ; 
“what has Dr. Archer to do with my spiritual 
state? I am very well satisfied with my 
spiritual state. Therefore I shall not go to Dr. 
Archer to consult him about it. I am not sick.” 

“Oh, sister,” said Junie with the tears coming 
to her eyes, “how lightly you talk about the 
most important subject that ever occupied the 
attention of human beings. It pains me to think 
that you are in the high road to eternal ruin ; 
and yet you are so indifferent, and have so little 
appreciation of your peril. Why will you bestow 
no thought on your destiny beyond the grave ? 
Why live for the vain, fleeting pleasures of sense 
and lose your own soul ? You cannot long enjoy 
these carnal gratifications, which never do satisfy. 


174 


FIERY TRIALS. 


Y^ou know by your own experience that they are 
followed hy a feeling of weariness and often, 
pain. Does it become us to waste our noblest 
energies in the pursuit of these things that so 
soon perish ? ” 

^^Stop, Miss Preacher! ” interrupted Gerie with 
a laugh. ‘^Wait, if you please, till you have a 
better congregation. Now let us be dismissed.” 

J unie was so overcome by this heartless mock- 
ery that she sank into a chair, buried her face in 
her hands and sobbed aloud. Then she fell upon 
her knees. 

^^0, God of Salvation 1” she cried, ^^give to my 
sister the enlightening influence of Thy Holy 
Spirit. Arouse her — ” 

^‘Junie, Junie,” exclaimed Gerie in some an- 
ger, seizing her by the arm, ^^get up from here, 
and quit this ridiculous stage-acting. I believe 
you are stark mad. What a simpleton you are 
making of yourself. Get up, I say. ” 

Junie, seeing that it was in vain to talk to her 
sister on this subject, arose and left the room 
without uttering another word. She went out to 
the carriage, and was soon on the way to Holly 
Springs. In half an hour the vehicle stopped at 
the residence of Dr. Archer. The minister was 
at home, and met the young lady at the gate and 
conducted her to the parlor. When the Doctor 
looked at her sad face, on which yet lingered the 
traces of recent weeping, and recalled the scenes 
at her home and the cemetery, he had to make 


FIERY TRIALS. 


175 

some little effort to conceal his emotions. Junie 
sat for a moment without speaking; and then in 
spite of all she could do the tears rolled down 
her cheeks. 

dear child, ” said the Doctor in a voice 
that slightly trembled, I know how to sympa- 
thize with you. I know what you feel. For 
your comfort I can point you to no earthly source. 
In all our hours of affliction and trial, earthly 
philosophy and wisdom are in vain. And now, 
before you even mention the object of your visit, 
let us kneel down and pray for that consolation 
which God alone can give. ” Then they knelt 
down, and Dr. Archer offered up a prayer char- 
acterized by true Christian unction. He asked 
the Father of Mercies to pour halm into the bleed- 
ing heart of this orphan kneeling as a suppliant 
before the throne of Grace. He prayed God to 
sustain her in this her hour of affliction, and to 
guide and keep her in the path of all Truth. 

When they arose Junie felt happier. The 
thought crept into her mind that the angels must 
certainly dwell in the house of this earnest man 
of God. Oh! how different he was from her 
unbelieving father. If her own parent were such 
a man, she felt that she would he willing to face 
all the inconveniences and hardships of abject 
poverty. 

^^My dear child,” said Dr. Archer, have 
thought of you frequently since your first visit ; 
and I have made you one of the special subjects 


FIERY TRIALS. 


176 

of my prayers. I hope my prayers have been 
answered, and that you can now realize that the 
Lord Jesus is your personal Saviour.” 

^^Doctor, I am in perplexity ; T seem to be shut 
in by mountains.” 

^Tt is nothing more than I expected.” 

‘‘Why so?” asked Junie in surprise. “I have 
been trying to follow your advice. I have been 
trying hard to be a Christian, and am endeavor- 
ing to obey God’s commandments ; and yet I do 
not feel satisfied. Why should I feel thus ?” 

“Are you sure” asked Dr. Archer, “that you 
have obeyed the divine commandments as the 
Lord requires ?” 

“Well, I have done nothing wrong that I can 
see.” 

“Very well” replied the preacher, “we will ad- 
mit that you have done not one thing wrong. 
But I told you plainly that you must keep the 
law in every particular if you intend to rely upon 
your obedience for salvation. Now how about 
your words? Have you uttered an idle word ?” 

“I may not exactly understand what is meant 
by idle words ; but I have spoken very few words 
of any sort since my visit to you ; and I do not 
think I have uttered a word which could be con- 
strued into a violation of any of God’s command- 
ments.” 

“Very well” said Dr. Archer, “we will grant 
you have kept the law in word, which is saying 
a great deal for a poor, frail mortal. But how 


FIERY TRIALS. 


177 


about your thoughts ? Have they been such as 
God requires?” 

do not think I have had any evil thoughts,” 
replied the young lady. 

“But the law demands that every thought 
shall be in strict accordance with the Divine 
Will. If you have had a single thought which is 
in opposition to that Will, then you have violated 
God’s law and you occupy the attitude of a con- 
demned sinner. If, as in our former conversation 
on this subject, I tried to impress the idea, you 
have even wished that you were not under the 
restraint of the law, and that there were some 
other plan of salvation, you are guilty of rebel- 
lion. If you have had a single desire to do a 
thing which is forbidden by the Divine Word, 
however slight and brief may have been the de- 
sire, you have certainly broken the law, and you 
are subject to its penalties,” 

“Then, Doctor, without saying more I confess 
I have failed. How then am I to be saved ? 
What must I do ? ” 

“The difficulty, child, is that you are trying 
to do too much. You will recollect that I told 
you no human being can perfectly obey God’s 
high and holy law. I tell you again you must 
not look to that, and try to conform to it as a 
means of justification, that is, as a means of pro- 
curing pardon. Did you not read the Commen- 
tary I lent you — I refer to the passages which I 
marked? ” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


178 

^^Yes sir. I read them.” 

^‘Did you not read that the law is our school- 
master to bring us to Christ ? ” 

‘^Yes sir.” 

^‘Well, that is the design of the law — not to 
furnish the means of salvation — but merely to 
bring us to Christ. While it is a rule of duty it 
does not provide in itself any way of escape 
from condemnation. It shows man his sinfulness 
and teaches him his duty, but it imparts no 
strength to discharge that duty.” 

^^You do not mean that I am not to try to 
keep the law ? ” asked Junie. 

^^So far from meaning that, I say that you are 
to endeavor to keep it as if your salvation 
depended on it ; but you are not to expect to be 
justified by it. The law ends with Christ. What 
you have to do is to exercise faith in the Lord 
Jesus. He has fulfilled the law and complied 
with its demands in your place ; and he offers to 
save you on the simple condition that you will 
trust your salvation to him. Now that is what 
you have to do, if ^do’ is the proper word to 
use. It is natural for us,” continued Dr. Archer, 
‘To think that we can deserve God’s favor by 
something wLich we can do. It seems that we 
have to try experiments before we can be con- 
vinced of our inability to secure salvation by our 
own merits. Some try to keep the law as you 
have done. They must exhaust their own re- 
sources before they will accept God’s simple 


FIERY TRIALS. 


179 

terms. ISow the whole object of the Bible is to 
reveal Christ as the only way whereby we must 
be saved. He is the Way, the Truth and the 
Life. All I can tell you is to accept him as your 
Saviour.” 

^^But how am I to accept Him, Hr. iVrcher? 
What particular thing must I do? You tell me 
to trust Christ ; but how am I to do that ? I am 
willing to do so if I knew how. If I could see 
Him as did the people of his day, I could go to 
Him and propose to be one of His disciples, and 
I could accept Him in that way.” 

‘^My child^ we walk by faith, and not by sight. 
Ho you not believe the facts recorded in the New 
Testament in regard to our Lord Jesus ?” 

^^To what particular facts do you allude ?” 

^‘That he died on the cross, and then on the 
third day rose from the dead.” 

‘^Y^es, sir, I believe that.” 

^‘Well, then, Christ is just as much present 
now as he was then. You can gain His ear now 
just as readily as any one could then. Though 
absent he is present however contradictory the 
assertion may appear. He is in this room at this 
very moment. Ho you believe it ?” 

^^While I am bound to accept it as truth Hr. 
Archer; yet I find a difficulty in making a clear 
and distinct reality of the fact.” 

^L\nd that is a difficulty, my child. You have 
come to the point now where reason can go no 
further ; faith must come to your relief. You ask 


i8o FIERY TRIALS. 

me how you must trust Christ — how you must 
have faith in Him? I cannot tell you how. I 
can only point out the way; hut you must walk 
in it. This is something which no one can do for 
yon. It must be your own act. But I will try 
to illustrate by a very simple circumstance — 
something like this : Suppose this house should 
take fire during my absence. I am returning 
home, and I see the flames shooting upward. 
When I arrive I find that all my family have 
escaped except my little five-year old boy. I see 
him at the window of the second story. All be- 
low is on fire, and I cannot get to him. There is 
only one way of escape. I call to him, and tell 
him to spring out of the window, and I will 
catch him. It is to him a fearful leap, and he 
hesitates. But I hold up my hands ; and at last 
he makes the venture, and jumps safe into my 
arms. Ho you not see that he has faith in me, 
and in my ability to save him ? Well now, your 
condition, from a spiritual standpoint is somewhat 
similar. You are in the utmost danger. The 
Lord Jesus tells you He is ready to save you, and 
He tells you to come to Him, and trust to Him.” 

^^But,” said Junie, cannot see Christ; I 
cannot hear Him. I can find nothing for my faith 
to lay hold of.” 

^Wou have come to the difficulty with which 
probably nearly everyone has to contend ; and I 
am glad you have got to that point I will not 
tell you that it is an easy thing to exercise faith 


FIERY TRIALS. 


i8i 

ill the Saviour; and especially for one of your 
reflective turn of mind. I am glad that you do 
find a difficulty ; and I am glad to see you feeling 
your way with so much care and caution ; for I 
do not want you to be deceive! in this matter of 
such vital importance. I do not want you to 
make a step in the wrong direction. Let the 
foundation be firm, and then you will know how 
to build the superstructure. I cannot tell you 
the precise mental effort to make —in other words 
I cannot tell the particular act of the soul in 
trusting to Christ. I met with the very difficulty 
which you experience. But have you ever 
prayed over this matter — prayed for the Holy 
Spirit ? ” 

^^Well, Doctor, only in a sort of loose and gen- 
eral way. I may say I have not prayed in ref- 
erence to the particular subject we are now talking 
about.” 

^‘Then, my child, I will tell you that you can 
never reason yourself into religion. The regen- 
eration of the heart is God’s work, and not man’s. 
You cannot give yourself a new nature by a mere 
volition. The only way out of your difficulties 
is by prayer. I cannot scatter the clouds that 
hover over your pathway. I can do no more for 
you except to help you pray to God to give you 
light. It is said in the Holy Scriptures ^God is 
my Refuge and my Strength, a very present 
Help in trouble.’ You need strength and help. 
Suppose then we now go to Him in prayer, and 
implore His gracious aid.” 


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Again the two knelt down, and Dr. Archer 
prayed with reference to the difficulties that 
clogged the faith of his young friend. After the 
prayer he said : 

^‘You must read and study the Sacred Scrip- 
tures; and whenever you meet with difficulties 
just go to the Lord with the simplicity of a little 
child approaching an earthly parent. True faith 
is never disappointed. You will no doubt meet 
Avith discouragements, and Avill be subjected to 
trials as all God’s people are; but in the darkest 
hours go to our blessed Redeemer in prayer. 
Cast all your troubles and cares on Him, and you 
will find a Triend that sticketh closer than a 
brother.’ But whenever you feel the need of 
counsel from a human being, remember that I am 
always ready to give you such advice as I am ca- 
pable of. Do not hesitate to call on me as your 
friend. But one thing more,” continued Dr. 
Archer, ^^which you must take into consideration. 
When you feel that you have passed from death 
unto life; when you feel that you are reconciled 
to God, then the next step is to confess Christ 
before men.” 

^^How is that to be done ? ” 

^‘That is to be done by joining the church.” 

‘^Joining the church! ” exclaimed Junie. 

^^Certainly,” replied Dr. Archer. ^Tou cannot 
be a secret Christian. You must take a public 
and bold stand before the world. You must let 
your light shine. But Ave Avill not talk more of 


FIERY TRIALS. 


183 

this now. We need not anticipate difficulties, 
which j^ou may never encounter. Wait till you 
leel that Jesus is your personal Saviour ; and 
then let me know. The Holy Spirit is, I believe, 
gradually leading you into the light and the path 
of duty. I have no doubt that in a short time 
you will want to talk to me again. But for the 
present let your whole aim be to trust Christ. 
Have faith in his precious promises ; pray to Him 
constantly, and you will, if I am not greatly mis- 
taken in my estimate of your character, soon 
rejoice in His love. You will feel that the sense 
of condemnation is gone ; and your soul will be 
filled with that peace which the world can neither 
give nor take away.” 

Then Miss J unie took her leave, thanking the 
Doctor for his invitation to call whenever she 
might desire, and remarking that she had need of 
just such a friend and councellor. 

As the carriage rolled along homeward the 
young lady felt happier. She now had clearer 
conceptions of her duty, and she determined to 
put in practice what she had learned. She might 
have asked herself the question why she did not 
at that very moment take refuge in Christ as the 
only Saviour? Why postpone to some future 
time ? She was just like thousands of others in 
this respect. Procrastination in this regard seems 
to be natural. To be saved we must rely solely 
on the Lord Jesus at some time. Why should 
not the penitent sinner do at once that which he 


FIERY TRIALS. 


184 

expects to do in the future ? How will he be in 
any better condition by waiting? It is evident 
that nothing is gained by procrastination ; and 
yet, men will defer. So Junie intended to accept 
Jesus as her Saviour; but somehow she did not 
feel quite ready. It seemed to her that she must 
go through some process of preparation. Her 
interview with Hr. Archer had not entirely ban- 
ished the idea from her mind that there is some 
sort of merit in human works. So she began 
at once to study the Scriptures day and night ; 
and she prayed with regularity ; and yet she did 
not feel that she was a Christian. Hays passed 
away ; and she thought she would better call on 
Hr. Archer again. But then he had informed 
her that he could tell her nothing more. All she 
had to do was to accept the Lord Jesus. 

One night Junie could not sleep for thinking 
of her condition. She felt like giving up in 
despair. Then she began to pray. At last after 
working up aU her material in the way of human 
merit, she by that act of soul, which no one can 
explain, cast herself on Jesus, crying in her 
heart, ^‘Lord save, or I perish.” 

The next morning when the sunbeams strug- 
gled through the window of Junie’ s room, she 
was a ‘^new creature in Christ Jesus.” She felt 
that her trust rested on a sure foundation. The 
sense of condemnation was all gone ; the dark 
clouds had rolled away ; and her heart was full 
of inexpressible joy. She felt as if she ought 


FIERY TRIALS. 


185 

to tell Miss Gerie. But no : it would be like 
^^casting pearls before swine ; ” and she had to 
enjoy this new happiness in secret and silence. 
And now the sky was clear; and Junie was 
cheerful and happy. She went on her way re- 
joicing under the life-giving rays of the blessed 
Son of Righteousness. 


CHAPTER XI. 

It would be well for every young Christian to 
have an experienced counsellor with whom he 
can consult in regard to those ^^fightings without 
and fears wdthin’' which distinguish the religious 
pilgrimage. Incalculable benefit may be derived 
from conference with one who is acquainted with 
the perils of the journey. Frequently the young 
pilgrim falls into the Slough of Despond^^ and has 
a hard struggle with difficulties that could be re- 
moved by a few judicious words of explanation. 
It was fortunate for Miss Junie Paine that she 
had such a wise and pious adviser in Dr. Archer. 
Again she felt the necessity of making another 
visit to him. She recalled the remark which he 
had made in reference to joining the church, 


FIERY TRIALS. 


1 86 

though she hardly understood what this step in- 
volved. She was moving slowly, but with firm 
resolution. She had determined to follow the 
path of duty wherever it might lead. So, one 
evening, a few days after the occurrences related 
in the preceding chapter, she drove to the resi- 
dence of Dr. Archer who had been expecting her. 
He had experience enough in such matters, to 
anticipate her actions. It was fortunate that 
Providence had directed her to this faithful min- 
ister. Any church may consider itself peculiarly 
blessed that enjoys the ministrations of such a 
preacher and pastor as he was. For he was not 
only an accomplished scholar ; hut he had a deep 
insight into human nature ; and he understood 
how to direct the inquirer. Sometimes it is the 
case that ministers in their great anxiety, give 
too much advice. Too much counsel has a ten- 
dency to lead the inquirer away from Christ, and 
induce him to depend to too great an extent upon 
human agencies. The penitent should be let 
alone to do that which no one can do for him. 
The preacher then should have considerable pru- 
dence as well as zeal. Dr. Archer not only pos- 
sessed knowledge, but wisdom. Besides he was 
distinguished for a suavity of address that was 
magnetic. He was so destitute of all false pride, 
and was so kind-hearted and sympathetic that he 
readily won confidence. It could soon he dis- 
covered by even the careless . observer that he was 
a man who could be trusted. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


187 

I am not greatly mistaken' snid Dr. Archer 
to Miss Junie when they were both seated in the 
parlor, ^‘you have found the light. You have 
put your trust in our blessed Redeemer.” 

^^How can you tell, Doctor ?” asked the young 
lady in some surprise. 

^^Sometimes” he replied, ^^our thoughts and 
feelings manifest themselves in our faces ; espe- 
cially our religious emotions. In some persons 
the inward peace Avhich they enjoy betrays itself 
in their features. I have often observed that the 
sincere inquirer loses the expression of painful 
anxiety when he finds the Saviour. Your very 
looks, my child, show that you are better satisfied 
than when you were here some days ago. Am 
I mistaken or not?” 

^‘Yoii are correct. Doctor. I was in great dis- 
tress for some time ; but I followed your advice 
and made a full surrender of myself to the Lord 
Jesus; and so soon as I did this I at once felt re- 
lieved ; The grievous burden was gone. I was 
astonished that I did not sooner pursue this 
course.” 

^‘Your experience in this respect is just like 
that of other people. We are surprised at our- 
selves for not having perceived the glorious light 
which was really shinning all around us. But, 
my young friend, remember that you have just 
entered upon the race. You cannot stop at this 
point. You have a work to perform, and other 
battles to fight with the powers of darkness. 


r88 


FIERY TRIALS. 


Our Master will not tolerate idlers in His vine- 
yard. He demands constant activity. You are 
now only upon the threshold. I must also warn 
you that new and severe trials await you. But 
I will not now describe them particularly. ‘Suf- 
ficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’ What- 
ever may be the character of your trials, do not 
forget the source of all help ; cling to the Saviour 
whom you have found, and He will never fail 
you.” 

“Doctor,” said Junie, when the minister had 
paused, “at my last visit you said I think that it 
would be my next duty to join the church.” 

“Yes ; I think every Christian ought to be 
willing to confess Christ before men. You will 
not need any persuasion in regard to this matter. 
John says ‘we know that we have passed from 
death unto life because we love the brethren.’ 
You will, if you are a true child of God, naturally 
desire to identify yourself with God’s people. I 
cannot conceive how a true believer can be con- 
tent to live without the pale of the church.” 

“It is my desire and intention to try to dis- 
charge every duty which the profession of religion 
involves. So if you will tell me what steps to 
take I will at once join your church, if you will 
receive me.” 

“I suppose you have never been baptized?” 

“No, sir. I never was inside of a church in 
my life till I attended yours some time since.” 

“Very well then. But before w^e say anything 


FIERY TRIALS. 189 

more, allow me to ask if you have obtained your 
farther’s consent? ” 

have said nothing to him abou-t it” replied 
Junie, ^^biit I suppose he will not offer any ob- 
jection. When can I join?” 

^^Next Sabbath, if you desire to do so. But 
my child, my opinion is that you would better 
prepare for opposition on the part of your father. 
I hope you may be correct in your supposition 
that he will allow you to have your way in this 
matter. But if he does oppose you, you will en- 
counter a great trial in the. very beginning of your 
religious career. What will you do, if he should 
oppose your desire to join the church?” 

‘T do not know. Doctor. I had not calculated 
upon any opposition ; and I hope I may be spared 
such a trial. But Doctor, there is no need to 
make provision for exigencies that may never 
arise. Somehow I cannot believe that my father 
will interpose any objection. He has always 
been very kind to me, and allowed me to act just 
as I pleased.” 

^Terhaps you do not know how bitterly your 
father is opposed to the Christian religion?” 

know that he does not believe in it,” said 
Junie. ^^He does not believe there is any God. 
But I cannot think that he will oppose my wish 
in this.” 

^Wery well,” said the Doctor shaking his head 
dubiously ; do hope and pray that you may be 
correct. But when you have consulted with him 


FIERY TRIALS. 


190 

be sure to let me know the result. Let every- 
thing be done openly ; and let me hear from you 
before Sunday if you can.” Then after a mo- 
ment he said, “when could I have an interview 
with your sister?” 

“Doctor, I do not know. She holds to my 
father’s views. I tried to induce her to come 
with me this evening, but she indignantly re- 
fused.” 

^^Could I pay her a visit at home?” 

“I would be delighted to see you at our house; 
but I cannot speak for sister. I will talk with her 
about R, and will acquaint you with her decision.” 

Here we may say that Dr. Archer never did 
have an interview with Miss Gerie or her brother. 
She would not consent to see him. He tried to 
comply with the request of her dying mother, but 
it was in vain. 

“Miss Junie took leave of the Doctor ; and as 
she went homeward she was thinking of the new 
duties she would have to perform in the capacity 
of a member of the church. Her conscience ap- 
proved the important step she was about to take 
and she felt happy. At the same time she was 
wondering what were the new trials to which the 
preacher had alluded. Poor child ! she was not 
long to be kept in ignorance on this subject. 

That night Col. Paine and Gerie with Junie 
were seated in the library. After a while Junie 
said : 

“'Father, I wish to consult you in regard to a 
step which I am about to take.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


191 

^‘What is it, daughter?” he asked in a kind 
tone. 

‘T do not want to act without your consent. 
If you have no objection I would like to join Dr. 
Archer’s church.” 

Col. Paine, on hearing this, almost sprang from 
his seat. It would have been difficult to an ob- 
server at the moment to tell what feeling was 
predominant. There were surprise, vexation, 
anger, all depicted in his countenance. The 
newspaper which he had been reading was quickly 
thrown aside. Gerie looked at her sister in mute 
amazement. Junie was thrown into a state of 
confusion and embarrassment by her father’s 
manner ; then she could not help recalling what 
Dr. Archer had said. 

For a moment not another word was spoken. 
Col. Paine seemed to be making a desperate effort 
to acquire full control of himself ; and appeared 
also to be studying how to shape his course. 
Gerie was the first to break the silence.- 

^^All this,” she said, ^^comes of your visit to 
that old hypocrite. I warned you and tried to 
dissuade you from going.” 

^^Hypocrite ! ” cried Junie turning red in the 
face. ‘Glow is it possible you can call that holy 
man a hypocrite ? ” 

^^Holy man, indeed ! ” answered Gerie with a 
sneer. ^^He is about as holy as a rattle snake. 
Holy man, truly ! ” 

Oh, sister,” said Junie with an air of depreca- 


92 


FIERY TRIALS. 


tion, ^^how can you talk so ? You do not — you 
cannot believe that Dr. Archer is a hypocrite.” 

^‘He is a hypocrite, and nothing but a hypo- 
crite,” exclaimed Gerie in anger, ^^making his 
living by working on people’s fears.” 

^^Junie,” said Col. Paine in a milder tone than 
she expected, did not know that you had been 
visiting the preacher. I thought you had more 
self-respect than that.” 

^^Why, yes, father,” interrupted Miss Gerie, ‘T 
ought to have told you all about it ; but I had 
no idea that Junie would turn Christian so soon. 
I will tell you how it was. John Milson and 
J unie and Mr. Bertram and I went to church not 
long since, without saying anything to you about 
it. We went to have a little fun, as I supposed. 
Dr. Archer preached a sermon about Christ, which 
I thought was a piece of foolishness mixed up 
with rant and cant. I never expected to hear of 
the performance anymore ; but I see it has turned 
Junie’s head. I am surprised that she was so 
easily taken in. Since then she has been to see 
the preacher two or three times ; and now we 
have the results of her visits : she wants to join 
the church. But, father, if I were you I never 
would give my consent to it.” 

^^Oh, sister,” said Junie with moistening eyes, 
^‘how can you be so cruel ? What harm can it 
do me to join the church? What harm can it do 
you or father ? ” 

^Munie,” said Col. Paine calmly and |deliberate- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


193 

ly, ^‘now listen to reason. You know not what you 
are doing. Do you know what is required of 
church people ?” 

^^No, sir, not precisely.” 

^‘Do you know that you will have to give up 
your dancing ?” 

‘‘Father, I am willing to do it. I always 
thought it was a frivolous amusement anyhow.” 

“What a ninny-hammer you are !” cried Gerie 
stamping her foot. 

“Father” continued Junie not seeming to 
notice her sister’s interruption,” you know mother 
was a Christian, though she never spoke of it, 
because, because — 

“Because what?” asked Col. Faine. 

“Because,” answered the young lady timidly, 
“you did not approve of it. But mother was a 
good woman. I believe she has gone to heaven; 
and I wish all of us could meet her there.” And 
the tears began to chase down her cheeks. 

“What stuff!” exclaimed Gerie. ‘ 

“Well now, Junie,” said Col. Paine, “if I did 
not approve of your mother’s being a Christian, 
why do you think I would approve of your being 
one ?” 

“Father, you have always been kind to me, 
and indulged me in all my wishes. I could see 
no reason why you should oppose my joining the 
church. It will certainly do you no harm. If it 
injures anybody, it will be only myself; and I 
cannot see what possible injury it will be to me.” 


194 


FIERY TRIALS. 


^^You. do not consider the consequences.” 

^•Yes I do, father.” 

But, hold,” interrupted Col. Paine, ^diear 
what I have to say. You know that I do not be- 
lieve there is any God, and I am firm in that be- 
lief. You talk about heaven. I do not believe 
there is any such place ; I do not believe there is 
any hell. I have never been afraid to express 
my opinion on this subject. I have argued the 
question in town and country. There are many 
people in Holly Springs who hold to my princi- 
ples. And now I ask you, what will they think if 
they see my own children sustaining an institution 
which I heartily despise. You ought to know 
that the church is a thing which I immeasurably 
detest. I regard it as a curse to the human race. 
It is a thing which the preachers have originated 
for their own private ends. It is an easy way to 
make a living, and it appears to be a respectable 
profession. But it is a decent way of begging ; 
and when I say that, it is the very highest com- 
pliment which I can pay the preachers. Most of 
these men, as Gerie said just now, are hypocrites. 
Some of them I will admit are honestly deluded, 
just as their followers are : but the large majority 
are, notwithstanding their pious cant and solemn 
airs, nothing but polished phyocrites. It is to 
their interest to get people into the church, as 
they call it. They get handsomely paid for that 
delightful blarney which they get off on Sundays 
under the name of preaching. They are merely 


FIERY TRIALS. 


195 


speculating on the fears of the people. They try 
to frighten people into obedience to their will by 
that terrible story of a lake that burns with fire 
and brimstone. The world never believed a more 
foolish and ridiculous superstition.” 

“Father, do you believe” asked Junie “that my 
dear mother was deceived ?” 

“I am sorry to say, Junie, that your mother 
suffered herself to be carried away with that fool- 
ish superstition ; and that was the only fault I 
ever found in her. I can call it nothing else than 
a superstition ; and I am utterly astonished that 
you or any one else with ordinary intelligence 
can believe it. Why the preachers themselves 
do not believe it. They tell a falsehood when 
they say they do. Their only object is to gain 
a subsistence. It is a more respectable w^ay of 
making a living than begging on the streets.” 

“Father,” said Junie, “I can never believe that 
Dr. Archer is a phyocrite. He is certainly sin- 
cere in what he does and says. A man of his 
talents and education could make a better living 
by following some other profession. I cannot 
conceive why he should make the sacrifices he 
does, if he is not honest.” 

“Sacrifices !” exclaimed Gerie with a derisive 
laugh, “I should like to know what sort of sacri- 
fices he makes. He does nothing but stay at 
home all the week, and then deal out a little cant 
on Sunday. If you call that making sacrifices I 
should like to make some sacrifices myself — I 
would.” 


196 FIERY TRIALS. 

Col. Paine laughed at this remark. 

‘^Junie/’ he said, wish you would take a 
sensible view of things like your sister does. She 
has too much sense to be carried away with such 
a delusion.” 

^A^es,” replied Gerie with a wise shake of the 
head. do not allow Dr. Archer, nor Dr. Any- 
body-else to fool me with hypocritical talk. I 
have no use for such decent beggars.” 

^^Sister,” said Junie in subdued tone, ^^you 
know not what you are saying. I have learned 
Dr. Archer’s history.” 

^^Oh, pshaw ! I care nothing about his his- 
tory,” said Gerie. 

^‘But do let me have a word,” entreated Junie. 
^T have listened patiently to the ridicule of you 
and father. I have learned Dr. Archer’s history. 
Years ago he was a distinguished lawyer ; he 
stood in the front rank of his profession. He was 
accumulating a fortune. Now, if he is such a 
hypocrite, why should he give up his profession 
in which he was successful and come to the little 
town of Holly Springs and take charge of a com- 
paratively small church which pays him hardly a 
respectable salary ? Where is the hypocrisy in 
that?” 

^AYho told you that? ” flippantly asked Gerie. 
^AVho told you that ? ” 

^Tt does not matter who told me. I have it 
from good authority. It seems to me,” continued 
Junie, ‘That some sacrifice was involved in that. 


FIERY TRIALS. - 


197 


Besides — '' 

^^Besides,” quickly interrupted Col. Paine, 
^^you know not what you are saying. You speak 
of making sacrifices. It depends entirely upon 
circumstances whether any sacrifice is made. You 
must have a concrete case before you settle that 
question. Cold and heat to a certain point are 
mere relative terms. If one of the Esquimaux 
should be suddenly transported from his ice-bound 
home to our country on some pleasant day in 
April, he would pronounce the weather intoler- 
ably hot. Your opinion would be quite different 
from his. Let the mercury in the thermometer 
suddenly rise on a cold day to sixty degrees, and 
we would complain of the heat ; but let it fall to 
the same number of degrees on a hot day in 
July, and we would pronounce the day cold. And 
so it is in the affairs of life. What one man 
would call a large amount of money, another 
would pronounce a very insignificant sum. So in 
any particular case we have to know what esti- 
mate the individual places upon money before we 
can determine whether he makes aiiy sacrifice or 
not. As a case in point I knew a young man some 
years ago who was engaged in farming. He 
worked hard at his calling, but could accumulate 
nothing. As he manifested some intellectual 
brilliancy a certain church took him from the 
plow and authorized him to preach. To my certain 
knowledge he laid up while preaching a hundred 
dollars annually for several years. One day I 
heard a Christian who lived in grand style say in 


FIERY TRIALS. 


198 

regard to the preacher, ^what a great sacrifice our 
preacher is making, getting only five hundred 
dollars a year.’ But to the young preacher there 
was no sacrifice in the case. He found preaching 
more remunerative than the agricultural business. 
So, you will have to know in what manner Dr. 
Archer was raised before you can say that he is 
making sacrifices.” 

^^And I suppose,” said Miss Gerie with a slight 
sneer, ^‘you have not put yourself to the trouble 
of ransacking Dr. Archer’s history from his very 
childhood in order to ascertain what great sacri- 
fices he is making in dealing out his Sunday cant.” 

To this sarcastic remark Junie made no reply. 
Col. Paine thinking that she was reduced to si- 
lence by his argument, said : 

“So you see, my daughter, you have no proof 
that this pious Dr. Archer is making any 
sacrifices.” 

“Father,” said Junie, “I admit that there is 
truth in what you have said. But I do not 
think your reasoning will apply to Dr. Arch- 
er. I was endeavoring to show what sacri- 
fices he is making when you interrupted me. 
You know, father, that he is finely educated. 
He could not then have been raised in abject 
poverty. Well, as I said just now, he was 
a lawyer who occupied an enviable position 
in his profession. That position he resigned 
in order to fill an humble office in the church. 
It occurs to me that this for him was a sacrifice* 


FIERY TRIALS. 


199 

Then again, in his profession of law he could 
have achieved fame; but he certainly can never 
do this in a country village. I can conceive of 
no motive in this case at least, of acting the 
hypocrite. What could he possibly gain by such 
a course? If it could be shown that he could 
acquire either wealth or honor by such a course — 
by giving up the law for the ministry, there 
might be some ground for the charge of hypoc- 
risy.” 

Miss Gerie, in whom there was not much intel- 
lectual depth, could make no reply to this sort of 
reasoning. So she glanced significantly at her 
father, who promptly came to the rescue. 

^‘My daughter,” he said, ^^you are young and 
inexperienced in the ways of the world. You 
are very liable to be deceived and misled by out- 
ward appearances. You know not what may be 
Dr. Archer’s motives, granting that you have his 
history correct. I admit that he has the manners 
of a polished gentleman; but then his religious 
pretentions are based on hypocrisy.” 

^^0, father, say not so,” cried Junie, ‘^vhen 
you have no proof of it.” 

‘T have as much proof as I want,” said Col. 
Paine manifesting some symptoms of vexation. 
^^No sensible man would believe what he says he 
does ; therefore, he is a hypocrite. The premises 
are correct, and so is the conclusion.” 

^^Father,” said Junie deeply grieved, you 
believe that I am a hypocrite ? ” 


200 


FIERY TRIALS. 


^‘No, child ; I do not think so. But you are 
laboring under a delusion for the want of reflec- 
tion and investigation. I have looked at both 
sides of the question. You have never done this. 
But you have just jumped at conclusions, you 
have assumed, without thought, that Dr. Archer 
spoke the truth. If you had read Thomas Paine’s 
Age of Reason, you would never have had these 
notions which I must call silly.” 

^^But suppose, father, I tell you that I have 
read the Age of Reason. ” 

^AVhen did you ever read it? ” 

^AVhy, in the last few days. 1 read it care- 
fully too. I have heard you say so much about 
it that I had some curiosity to see what was in 
the book. I had no wish to be deceived. If 
there was no truth in the Bible I wanted to find 
it out. All I ’want is the truth, and will accept 
it no matter what it is. I would be foolish indeed 
to attempt to deceive myself.” 

^AVell,” said the Colonel, ^^did not Mr. Paine 
convince you that there is not a particle of truth 
in the Bible ? If you weighed his arguments 
you must have been convinced.” 

studied the book,” said Junie, ^^as well as 
I could, but I was not convinced. The ridicule 
to which he resorts, proves to me the ^venkness 
of his cause. His reasoning, if such it can be 
called, had no eflect on me except to confirm my 
belief of the Bible.” 

^^Girl,” cried Col. Paine, showing indications 


FIERY TRIALS. 


201 


of real anger, you not know that his cause, 
as you call it, is my cause ? Any insult offered 
to his memory is an insult to me. I take it as a 
personal matter.” 

^‘Oh, father,” quickly exclaimed Junie, I beg 
your pardon. I did not intend to wound your 
feelings. I meant no reflection whatever on you. 
I meant only that the Age of Reason is a very 
weak book in my opinion.” 

“Well, upon my word,” said Grerie, “I think 
you must have a great fund of presumption, to 
express your opinion so freely about a great 
man.” 

“And a great patriot too,” added Col. Paine, 
“and defender of Liberty.” 

“I do not dispute that” answered J unie mildly. 
“I had no reference to his private character. I 
was speaking only in regard to his book.” 

“Well, his book,” said Col. Paine. “I say his 
book is unanswerable. He exposes in a masterly 
manner the absurd pretentions of the Bible. He 
shows clearly that it is an imposition and a forg- 
ery. And I cannot see how any one can read it 
and not concur in his opinions. His reasoning 
is as fine a piece of logic as I ever met with. To 
a thinking mind it is irresistible.” 

“Father,” said Junie who was now afraid of 
arousing her parent’s violent temper, “I am incapa- 
ble of arguing the question with you. With your 
superior scholarship and learning you can sug- 
gest difficulties which I cannot solve. But 


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my faith is strong in the Bible. I cannot help 
believing it. You may not believe in it ; but you 
cannot say that it is a bad book.” 

^‘Well;if you think I cannot’ say so, I do affirm 
that its teachings are in some instances really 
pernicious ; they are detrimental to the best and 
highest interests of human society. Besides, it 
requires people to do things that are repulsive 
and galling to the noblest feelings of manhood.” 

^‘What is it, father, that is so repulsive ? I 
have not met with a single precept or command- 
ment whose observance I thought would injure 
any one. What is it that is so galling to the 
feelings of manhood ?” 

^^0, that godly sorrow for sin, as the Christians 
are pleased to call it — that humbling one’s self 
down in the dust, and begging like a whipped 
cur for mercy — and that Tasting’ as they call it 
— starving one’s self to get up a proper feeling of 
humility — that doing penance when one happens 
to laugh a little too loud on Sunday or some other 
heinous offence of that sort ; — and,” he added 
with considerable emphasis, ^^giving up the pleas- 
ures of life for the sake of Paradise which has no 
existence save in the imaginations of Christians. 
I will never give up my liberties, and put myself 
under the control of priests. Ugh !” he con- 
tinued with a show of disgust, ‘‘1 hate the whole 
system of Christianity from beginning to end. 
[Col. Paine uttered the truth when he made that 
assertion.) I do not see how people with any 


FIERY TRIALS. 


203 

sense can suffer themselves to be gulled with such 
trumpery. Junie, give up this silly notion of 
joining the church.” 

‘^Oh, father,” she said with the tears stream- 
ing down her cheeks, ^4t may be a silly notion, 
as you say; I confess my weakness. But it is a 
harmless notion. My joining the church will 
certainly make me no worse.” 

^^Make you no worse?” said Col. Paine. ‘Tt 
has already made you worse. It makes you go 
moping around like a criminal. Why, you have 
not been yourself for the past few days. I could 
not account for the absence of your usual vivacity. 
The experience of a few days in religious matters 
has made you look five years older. Already 
you begin to have the solemn appearance of a 
Sister of Charity.” 

have been in trouble, father, for a few days, 
I confess. But in the future I will be cheerful. 
There is nothing in religion to make one unhappy. 
On the contrary, it has an elevating influence. 
It enables one to bear up under the sorrows and 
trials of life.” 

^‘So,” interrupted Gerie with a sneer, ‘^you 
have begun to acquire that miserable cant for 
which the preachers are distinguished. You are 
rather a precocious disciple I think.” 

^^Oh, pshaw!” cried Col. Paine in vexation, 
^^give up this foolish notion, and be yourself 
again.” 

Poor Junie, under this torrent of ridicule and 


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abuse, could no longer control her emotions. She 
was not prepared for this kind of opposition ; and 
now she knew not what to do. So she broke 
down, and sobbed aloud. 

‘^Junie,” said Gerie, ^df I were you I would 
be ashamed of myself. What are you crying 
about? Is this one of the fruits of you religion? 
If it is, deliver me from it.” 

Junie made no reply to the unkind cut of her 
cruel sister. But after a little she recovered her- 
self sufficiently to speak ; and she concluded 
that she would make a direct appeal to her parent 
who she was loath to believe would resist all her 
entreaties. 

‘‘Father,” she said uncovering her tear-stained 
face, and speaking in a pleading tone, ^‘it is but 
a small favor that I ask. I cannot be satisfied ' 
unless I join the church. Please gratify me in 
this, and I shall not trouble you again.” 

Then she paused for the reply. It occurred 
to Col. Paine that he ought to crush this thing 
in its very incipiency. Neither ridicule nor rea- 
son would avail anything. Here was a plain 
issue between father and child. He was deter- 
mined that he would not be outdone. So he said 
firmly and sternly, 

^^Junie, it is no small thing that you ask. 
You do not appreciate what is implied in my 
consent to your joining the church. It would be 
like surrendering all my principles,’ 

“I do not ask you to surrender any principle, 
father.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


205 

‘^Silence!” exclaimed Col. Paine, still more 
sternly. ‘‘You know not the meaning of your 
own words. You want to make me the laughing- 
stock of all my neighbors. Now I have got 
enough of this foolishness ; and I tell you once 
for all that if you join the church you will incur 
my everlasting displeasure. I tell you further 
that if you take this step against my will, that 
moment you sever all connection with me, and 1 
shall disinherit you. Now that is my answer; 
and it shall be like the laws of the Medes and 
Persians.” 

Poor Junie! All her hopes were now blighted. 
She knew her Lither too well to say anything 
more at least then. So without speaking she went 
to her own room, fell on her knees, and lifted her 
heart to God in humble prayer. 


CHAPTER XII. 

The next morning Miss Junie arose in a state 
of mind which can be better imagined than de- 
scribed. There are many phases of human ex- 
perience which words have no power to portra 3 ^ 
We feel much more than we can express. Such 
is the poverty of human language, that often the 


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FIERY TRIALS. 


mute look conveys a more correct idea of the 
heart’s emotions than any arrangement of words 
could possibly do. 

The morning was bright and lovely, and its 
balmy air was sufficient to make bare existence 
desirable and enjoyable. But all this beautiful 
appearance of nature was not in harmony with 
Junie’s feelings. She recalled the conversation 
of the previous evening; and she was filled with 
anxious forebodings. She dreaded an open rupt- 
ure with her father; and yet she thought she 
ought to perform her duty at all hazards. Then 
it occurred to her that probably it might not be 
her duty to join the church when the step in- 
volved such fearful consequences to herself. It 
seemed that it would be ruinous to her earthly 
prospects. Then again the thought came to her 
mind that probably her father might retract what 
he had said, and' allow her to have her own way 
in regard to the matter. But no; she believed 
that she knew him too well to indulge the hope 
that he would relent. Then she prayed with all 
the faith she could command ; and still the way 
seemed dark. At last she came* to the conclusion 
that she would consult Dr. Archer about it. She 
had promised to call anyhow before the next 
Sabbath. 

So immediately after breakfast Junie ordered 
the carriage. Her father’s suspicions being 
aroused he said : 

‘^Junie, where are you going ? ” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


207 

Some weeks before that time the young lady 
would not have hesitated to practice some little 
prevarication ; but now that she was governed 
by higher principles she recognized the obligation 
to speak the truth under all circumstances. She 
was sorry that her father had asked the question; 
but she must answer. 

^^Father,” she said in a pleading tone, ‘nf you 
will allow me, I want to see Dr, Archer. I sig- 
nified my wish to join his church. But perhaps” 
she added with some hesitation, ^‘if I inform 
him that the step does not meet your approba- 
tion, he may not think it necessary.” 

The Colonel was in hopes that his daughter 
had changed her mind after the last night’s con- 
versation. So he did not offer any objection to 
the proposed visit. Indeed he thought it would 
be best that she should see the minister and nip 
the matter in the very bud. But he deemed it 
advisable to reiterate the threat which he had 
made the previous evening in order that the 
menace might operate against any of Dr. Archer’s 
persuasions. 

^^Junie,” he said with great deliberation and 
with an air of firmness intended to make a deep 
impression, want no trifling in this matter. I 
have fully and deliberately made up my mind; 
and I tell you again that I will never give my 
consent to your joining the church. If you do 
so, I repeat that I will disinherit you. If you see 
proper to join the church never let your shadow 


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darken the doors of this house which has so long 
afforded you shelter. Now take your choice ; I 
am in earnest.” 

^^May I not call on Dr. Archer this morning ?” 
she asked. 

^^Go if you wish ; but you know my decision, 
which is unalterable. When you j oin the church , 
never come back home; it shall no longer be a 
home to you.” 

The Colonel looked terribly in earnest ; and 
his harsh words uttered with distressing deliber- 
ation made Junie turn a shade paler, and almost 
tremble. The idea of leaving her beautiful home 
and her hither who had been so kind to her all 
her life, and had humored even her whims ; and 
of parting with Gerie who really loved her not- 
withstanding her sharp and sarcastic remarks, — 
this Avas an alternative presented to her mind, 
that sent a shivering, sickening sensation through 
her frame. The Colonel intended his menace to 
intimidate his daughter; and still what he had 
said was half in earnest. He did not believe that 
Junie would ever put him to the test. It would 
be as great a trial to him as to her. He might 
execute the threat if he had reason to believe 
there was any attempt to force him into measures. 
He took pride in not being driven. 

The young lady Avith a heart full of sorroAv left 
her father Avithout saying more. Her course now 
must depend someAvhat on the advice of Dr. 
Archer; though she had almost determined in 


FIERY TRIALS. 


209 

her own mind what she would do. In a little 
while she was again seated in the minister’s 
parlor. 

perceive, child, that you are in trouble,” he 
said, a few moments after they had entered the 
house. 

^‘Doctor,” said the young lady with an expres- 
sion which was nearer akin to a mournful smile 
than anything else, ^‘you are an expert at reading 
thoughts.” 

^‘No, not thoughts, my child. I have no power 
to do that. It is only God that can perceive the 
thoughts and intents of the heart. I would not 
have you think for a moment that I can discover 
the operations of your mind. But you wear a 
troubled look without perhaps being aware of it.” 

^‘Well, Doctor, whatever my looks may indicate, 
I am in trouble. You know not what an awful 
alternative now squarely faces me. 

might imagine,” replied the minister, ^^but 
I will not try to anticipate. I might be mistaken. 
So go on, to state your trouble. I am ready to 
help you out of it, if I can possibly do so.” 

^^Well, in regard to joining the church my father 
manifests an opposition which I did not expect, 
and for which I may say I was not prepared.” 

felt satisfied that he would oppose you. 
But is his opposition very decided ? ” 

^^So decided,” replied Junie, ^^that he threatens 
to disinherit me, and drive me from home,” she 
said as a flood of tears rushed to her eyes. 


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said Dr. Archer quietly, ^^compose 
yourself, my child, and let us talk over the matter 
with calmness. We must not act hastily in the 
matter. Perhaps the opposition of your father 
may be overcome.” 

have not the slightest hope of that,” 
answered Junie making a great effort to restrain 
her tears, 

^^Then, child, let us, before we say more, kneel 
here and pray to God for direction. I cannot 
think of giving advice in reference to such an 
important matter without first invoking the help 
of the Lord.” 

Accordingly they knelt down, and Dr. Archer 
offered up a prayer appropriate to the occasion. 
When they arose the minister felt painfully per- 
plexed. For a moment he did not utter a word. 
But presently he said : 

^•Well, child, what are you going to do ? 
Perhaps, you have already determined upon some 
course of action which will supersede the neces- 
sity of giving advice; and besides you have not 
said that you need any advice.” 

‘T certainly need instruction. I know not 
what to do. Will it, do you you think, he neces- 
sary under the circumstances for me to join the 
church ? Can I not be just as good a Christian 
at home? ” 

“But,” said the Doctor slowly and thoughtfully, 
“is this confessing Christ before men? Would 
your own conscience be satisfied with such a 


FIERY TRIALS. 


21 1 


course? Then see here/’ said the minister taking 
up a Bible and turning a few leaves, ^Svhat does 
this mean? ^He that loveth father or mother 
more than me is not worthy of me.’ What means 
that?” 

^^Does religion really require, Doctor, that I 
should give up my home in order to be a Chris- 
tian ? Does it require me to come down to abso- 
lute beggary ? ” 

^^My child, heaven forbid that I should deceive 
you in this matter, or conceal anything from you 
that might place your eternal interests in jeop- 
ardy. Oh, if we miss heaven, nothing of an 
earthly character can compensate for that loss. 
Heaven is worth every sacrifice that a mortal can 
make. We would better by far live on bread 
and water in this world, if our religion makes it 
necessary, than to dwell forever in the flames of 
torment. The Lord requires us to do our duty, 
let the consequences be what they may. He will 
excuse no one. Often times our path seems dark 
and dreary ; the clouds lower ; and storms rage ; 
but we must go forward. God promises protec- 
tion and assistance only when we tread the path 
of duty. Outside of that path there is no 
safety. Thousands have given up not only their 
homes, but even their lives for Christ. You read 
in the New Testament of the trials and perils of 
Paul. The early Christians had to go through 
the fires of persecution. We read in the 11th 
chapter of the Epistle to the Hebrews an awful 
account of the trials of God’s people.” 


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FIERY TRIALS. 


And Dr. Archer turned to the book and read : 
^^Quenched the violence of fire, escaped the 
edge of the sword, out of weakness were made 
strong, waxed valiant in fight, turned to flight the 
armies of the aliens. Women received their dead 
raised to life again ; and others were tortured, 
not accepting deliverance ; that they might ob- 
tain a better resurrection : And others had trial 
of cruel mockings and scourgings, yea, morever 
of bonds and imprisonments : They were stoned, 
they were sawn asunder, were tempted, .were 
slain with the sword ; they wandered about in 
sheep-skins and goat-skins ; being destitute, 
afflicted, tormented. Of whom the world was not 
’svorthy ; they wandered in deserts, and in moun- 
tains, and in dens and caves of the earth.” 

^^Such,” said Dr. Archer ^Svere the sufferings 
that many have endured for the sake of their 
faith. Some it is true faltered, and renounced 
their faith ; but thousands did sacrifice their lives. 
Many were delicate females like yourself ; but 
they cheerfully gave up their lives for the Mas- 
ter. Now religion has always been the same. 
Whatever is required of one generation is required 
of another. We are to obey God rather than men. 
Whenever it comes to such a question as that we 
should not hesitate as to our course. All we 
have to do is to follow the path of duty. If it 
leads through fire we must nevertheless follow it. 
If we do so we have God’s promise of a glorious 
reward. ‘He that loseth his life for my sake 


FIERY TRIALS. 


213 

shall find it.’ That blessed assurance is enough 
to encourage any Christian to tread the path of 
duty under any and all circumstances.” 

^•But Dr. Archer,” said Junie, do not pro- 
pose to renounce Christ or my religion.” 

understand that,” replied the preacher. 
^‘The martyrs had to choose between the renun- 
ciation of Christ or death at the fiery stake, or 
some other form. We are not now subjected to 
such a fearful ordeal. But granting that the 
consequences Avhich you suppose would follow 
your joining the church — that is, you should be 
disinherited and should have to leave your home, 
still it would not be as much of a sacrifice as they 
made. They not only gave up their homes, hut 
their very lives. What you would suffer would 
be nothing compared Avith what they endured.” 

^•Do I understand you then. Dr. Archer, to 
advise me to join the church in opposition to the 
Avish of my father, and become an outcast from 
home?” 

do not take upon myself to tell you, my 
child, that you ought to disobey your parent in 
this matter. . I am only in general terms pointing 
out the path of duty. My opinion is that we 
should obey God rather than men. But as to 
the particular course you ought to pursue, when 
Ave make a concrete case of it, that must be de- 
cided by yourself. Your conscience must be sat- 
isfied, not mine. I really wish you to decide the 
question for yourself. I Avould advise you to 


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pray over the matter ; take your Bible for your 
guide. Examine closely what is said in regard 
to confessing Christ before men ; and then deter- 
mine upon your course of action. ’If you can 
reconcile it to your conscience to live out of the 
church, and you think you can serve God in se- 
cret, T have nothing more to say. May the Lord 
help you to decide right. I fully appreciate the 
difficulties of your position ; and I think it will 
cost you a hard struggle to come to a decision. 
But put yourself in the hands of Christ, and he 
will make the way plain. When that is done, 
there is only one course left you ; and that is to 
walk in the way which He points out, let the 
consequences be what they may.” 

When Miss Junie left the residence of Dr. 
Archer, it was with a rather clouded face and a 
heavy heart. She could not see clearly that she 
was called upon to make the sacrifice which join- 
ing the church would render necessary ; and yet 
she felt that if she were only a member of the 
church, she would certainly he in the path of 
duty and of safety. In this state of hesitation 
she could not but feel depressed. When she 
reached home she met her father who said : 

^AYell, what was the result of your visit?” 
have decided,” said Junie in a tone of tinged 
with sorrow, ^That I will not join the church — at 
least, not yet.” 

^‘That is a sensible decision, my daughter. I 
thought you would have too much good sense to 


FIERY TRIALS. 


215 

take such a foolish step after you had weighed 
the subject in your logical mind.” 

Junie was not in a condition to appreciate such 
a compliment. It was so far from the truth that 
it sounded more like mockery than anything else. 
Had the person speaking been anybody but her 
father she would have regarded such words as 
mere derision. But, Col. Paine looking more 
closely at her pensive face said : 

^T hope you have not made any further en- 
gagement with Dr. Archer. My advice to you 
is to strike his name off the list of your acquaint- 
ances. While he appears to be a gentleman, he 
is an oily tongued hypocrite who will use all his 
influence to get you into his church.” 

This unjust accusation was almost too much 
for the pent-up feeling of Junie. She felt like 
repelling it as a falsehood, but she durst not 
open her mouth in defense of the slandered min- 
ister. While her heart ached she said : 

did not tell him that I would call again.” 

^^Did he ask you to call ? ” 

^^He gave me a general permission to call when- 
ever I should feel like it.” 

^Termission, indeed ! ” exclaimed the Colonel 
with a frown. suppose he acts the autocrat 
over his congregation. He might consider him- 
self honored by a visit from my daughter, with- 
out permission.” 

^Hle did not say permission, father,” said Junie 
quickly. ^ J unfortunately used the word which 


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FIERY TRIALS. 


occurred to me as proper, from the fact that I 
have no right to trespass upon his time without 
permission. I should have said that he gave me 
a general invitation to call whenever I desired to 
do so. That was all.” 

“Well, never mind, child,” said Col. Paine 
kindly. “Have nothing more to do with him, 
whether he permits or invites. Dismiss this dis- 
agreeable subject from your mind and try to be 
happy. I hope I shall never again hear you 
mention such a thing as joining the church.” 

Junie made no reply but went immediately to 
her room, and sat down to think. Her thoughts 
culminated in the determination to be a Chris- 
tian at home. She tried to satisfy her conscience 
with the reflection that it was not Christ and 
her faith that she had renounced, but had only 
abandoned the idea of joining the church. That 
was all. She could and would enjoy her re- 
ligion in secret. Accordingly she read and 
studied the Bible, which Dr. Archer had pre- 
sented, but which she was under the necessity 
of hiding from both her father and her sister 
Gerie. She prayed much ; and yet with all her 
secret devotions, there lurked in her heart a feel- 
ing of dissatisfaction with herself. Somehow 
the “secret monitor within” did not appear to 
approve of her decision to live out of the church. 
So it is with every believer who avoids a known 
duty. The conscience cannot be bribed or flat- 
tered into silence. Reason as he may, like Ban- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


217 


quo’s ghost, it ^Svill not down at his bidding.” 

So days rolled away ; and Junie felt that she 
Avas making no progress ; but there was a pain- 
ful sense of retrograding. She had no Christian 
friend to whom she could go for comfort and 
counsel except Dr. Archer ; and somehow she 
dreaded another interview with him. He had 
spoken his mind in regard to joining the church. 
The young lady was hardly capable of making 
a correct analysis of her own feelings. The 
Christian race was something new to her, and she 
was not acquainted with the difficulties that lie 
in the way. She often propounded the question 
to herself whether her refusing to attach her- 
self to the church had anything to do Avith her 
feeling of general unhappiness. Why AA^as it so 
important to join the church? Dr. Archer seemed 
to think.it necessary; but then, the thought 
came creeping into her mind that possibly he 
might be a little over zealous on the subject, as 
he appeared to be a rather impulsive character. 
But Avhy could she not be a good and true Chris- 
tian AvithoLit'ever going to church at all ? Then, 
some passage of Scripture Avould flash into her 
mind like, ^Tf any man Avill come after me, let 
him deny himself, and take up his cross and fol- 
low me.” Hoav Avas she denying herself? Then 
she Avould recall Avhat Dr. Archer had said about 
the martyrs. Then she Avould try to make ex- 
cuses for herself In the midst of this multitude 
of clashing notions and feelings Miss Junie Avas 


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FIERY TRIALS. 


decidedly unhappy. She became melancholy, 
and avoided company as much as she possibly 
could. Miss Gerie grew vexed with her sister, 
and frequently rebuked her with considerable 
sharpness. One day she said : 

^Munie, do for goodness’ sake, quit moping 
around, as if you expected to die. What is the 
matter with you anyhow ? You don’t talk any 
scarcely ; and you just stay in your room from 
morning till night, I wish you had never met 
with that preacher, and had never heard that 
sermon about Jesus Christ. Just such people as 
you are enough to disgust anybody with religion. 
If you expect to go to heaven why can’t you be 
cheerful and happy ? What is the use of going 
about with your head hanging down as if you 
were some criminal soon to be executed ? If 
that is the way religion serves people, I don’t 
want any of it.” 

What could poor Junie reply. Miss Gerie was 
worldly-minded not even believing in the existence 
of a God; or at least she was so thoughtless that 
she never examined her own mind to ascertain if 
she believed anything in reference to eternal 
things. Junie could find no sympathy at home ; 
and she had to endure her trials in silence. She 
durst not make known her feelings. 

One day a ticket to attend another ball in Holly 
Springs was sent out addressed to the Misses 
Paine. Gerie on receiving it, at once sought her 
sister. With a face glowing with delight she 
exclaimed : 


FIERY TRIALS. 


219 

‘^See here, Juaie, — another ball. How shall 
we dress ?” 

am not going, sister.” 

^'Not going!” exclaimed Gerie looking at her 
in amazement. 

‘•No ; I am not,” was the firm reply. 

“Why not ?” 

“Because I do not wish to go.” 

“Yes,” said Gerie with a bitter smile, “there 
is that abominable religion again. Have I not 
always said that religion only makes people un- 
happy ? Well,” she continued in a sneering tone, 
“I would not be one of those moody, mopish 
Christians for anything in the world. I never 
saw the like in my life. A few months ago you 
were gay and lively, and fond of balls; and now 
you are just like some old grandma seventy years 
of age. What has got into you ? Ho you ex- 
pect to go moping the balance of your days ?” 

“Sister,” said Junie with tears coming to her 
eyes, “what makes you talk so unkindly to me ? 
You can go to the ball, if you wish. My staying 
at home needs not give you any trouble.” 

“Yes, but people will be making remarks about 
it, and asking me where you are, and why you 
did not come, and all that. I hate to tell them 
you have turned Christian, and have given up 
dancing and gone into private life, and changed 
your room into a cell. I don’t like to make such 
explanations.” 

“You need not make any explanation. If any 


220 


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one should ask about me, you can say that I did 
not wish to attend; and you need not assign any 
reason for my absence.” 

No persuasion could induce Junie to recede 
from her determination not to go. Col. Paine 
himself talked with his daughter on the subject, 
and even tried to bribe her into going to the ball. 
He told her that there was no harm in it, accord- 
ing to the highest standard of religion, if the 
standard could be ascertained from the conduct 
of Christians themselves. He had often seen 
them dancing in the ball-room, and they were 
consistent people too. 

Some months previous to this, before Junie 
had become a Christian, if she had refused to at- 
tend a ball, he would not have asked her a ques- 
tion about it. But now it was different. He 
thought that if she could be persuaded to attend 
this ball, it would be a little victory — at least one 
retrogressive step toward her former position. 
But Miss Junie was firm, and the Colonel, though 
considerably chagrined, wisely concluded that the 
matter was of such a nature that it would not 
admit of the application offeree. So Miss Gerie 
was compelled to go to the ball without her sister 
— a thing she had not done for several years. 

Bertram and Milson were both in attendance. 
In the course of the evening Bertram said to 
Miss Gerie : 

^AVhy did not Miss Junie come to the ball to- 
night ?” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


221 


^‘0, 1 hate to tell ^ou, Mr. Bertram. But sis- 
ter has turned Christian — thorough Christian. 
I can do nothing with her. Father s persuasions 
and mine were all in vain. Y'ou never saw any 
one changed as she has in the last few days. 
She looks as solemn as a preacher. I really feel 
sorry for her. If that is the way religion does 
people I never do want it.” 

^‘Religion elfectually puts an end to all pleas- 
ures.” [Oh, Bertram, what a falsehood that is !) 
^‘Why Christians condemn all amusements, I 
never could see.” [Another falsehood, Mr. Ber- 
tram.) 

^‘Neither can I,” answered Gerie. ‘‘Why they 
should oppose dancing, for instance, passes my 
comprehension.” 

“Mine too. I do not know of any recreation 
which is more refining and more healthful ; and 
it certainly does have that effect.” [But what 
other effect does it have, Mr. Bertram ?) 

“Of course it does,” answered Gerie, who 
would endorse almost any affirmation that Ber- 
tram might make. “I do not see on what prin- 
ciple God could condemn it." 

“That is,” interrupted Bertram, “if there is 
any God to whom we are responsible. You forget.” 

“Yes ; that is what I meant. I did not forget, 
but I had in my mind the kind of God that 
Christians worship. If there is any such God I 
do think he would be very cruel to forbid so in- 
nocent a pleasure as dancing.” 


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‘^By the way,” said Bertram, ^^speaking of re- 
ligion reminds me that a celebrated Bishop of the 
Methodist church is announced to preach here 
next Sunday. He is quite an orator, even if he 
is a Christian ; and if you and Miss Junie would 
like to attend, I think Milson can be pressed into 
service as an escort.” 

^^For me ? 

^^No, not for you. Because, with your consent, 
I reserve that pleasure and honor for my humble 
self. No doubt you will be highly entertained 
with the performance of the preacher. What do 
you say ? ” 

am perfectly willing, Mr. Bertram. But I 
do not believe that father will give his consent 
for Junie to go.” 

‘^0, never mind that,” said Bertram. ^‘We 
need not let him know where we are going. We 
can tell him a little fib.” 

^Wery well,” said Gerie with a laugh. Just 
so she could be with Bertram she could endure 
a divine service. Then it would be such a treat 
for Junie ! 

“I will see Milson now, if you will excuse me 
a moment? ” 

He then at once approached Milson and stated 
his proposition. To his surprise Milson consented 
with an expression of pleasure on his face. 

The ball at last broke up, and the parties sepa- 
arated. Next morning when Gerie informed her 
sister in regard to the arrangement for the follow- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


223 

ing Sabbath there was a perceptible brightening 
of Junie’s bice. As to all the causes Gerie was 
ignorant. At any rate Jiinie was glad to learn 
that she could attend church once more. So she 
was in better spirits the remainder of the week. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

According to previous agreement, when the 
next Sabbath dawned Milson and Bertram made 
their appearance at Col. Paine’s residence in or- 
der to see the young ladies to church. 

Judging from Milson’s conduct it would seem 
that he had resisted the ^^yellow fiend” to such 
an extent that he now had full control of himself. 
He could look Miss Gerie squarely in the face 
without that palpitation of the heart, which, un- 
der some circumstances that require no descrip- 
tion, is rather ^'’'painfully pleasing.” There are 
some phases of human nature that can be learned 
only by experience, and this is one of them. 

Milson said very little to the fair Egeria^ and 
paid not much attention to her in any way. 
What change, if any, had ^‘come over the spirit 
of his dream” was known only to himself. But 
he manifested not the least vexation or purtur- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


224 

bation when Miss Gerie was assisted into the 
buggy by the devoted Bertram. Her evident 
partiality for Bertram could not escape his notice; 
and yet he seemed not to care. We are speaking 
merely of the external appearance. We do not 
pretend to say that he had lost his fondness for 
Miss Gerie — a fondness that had been fostered 
and encouraged for some years. Were we to say 
this the inference might be drawn that he was of 
a rather fickle mind, unless our judicious reader 
should conclude that the recent exhibitions of 
some phases of her character, to which attention 
has been called, constituted just cause for an al- 
teration of sentiment toward the fair one. We 
merely inform our reader in what manner the 
young man acted. When he helped Junie into 
his own buggy he betrayed not the slightest 
emotion, if there was room to suspect any unusual 
emotion in the case. If a stranger had been 
looking on, and had desired to ascertain the state 
of Milson s heart, he would doubtless have pro- 
nounced the young man indifferent to the charms 
of either one of the young ladies. But dismiss- 
ing such matters, for the present, at least, the 
parties were soon on the way to Holly Springs. 
Col. Paine did not ask any question as to where 
they were going. He could trust Bertram, who 
had in his mind a very plausible ^^fib” if the 
Colonel had manifested any curiosity to know 
their destination. 

In due time the parties were -seated in the 


FIERY TRIALS. 


225 

house dedicated to the service of the living God. 
Soon the preacher entered the pulpit. It was 
the Rev. Joshua Soule, D. D., one of the Bishops 
of the M. E. Church. As our story does not 
concern him, we will not consume time by at- 
tempting to give a description of the man. It is 
sufficient to say that he was a grand man, and a 
powerful preacher — a man who had so little am- 
bition to gain ecclesiastical honors that when he 
was elected Bishop in 1820 he declined to serve 
the church in that capacity. Butin 1824 he was 
re-elected, and submitting to the earnest and ur- 
gent solicitations of his friends, was consecrated 
to the office. 

When the Bishop had gone through the pre- 
liminary exercises he announced as his text, 
Hebrews 11:8. ^^By faith Abraham, when he 
was called to go out into a place which he should 
after receive for an inheritance, obeyed ; and he 
went out, not knowing whither he went.” 

As he proceeded with his subject he warmed 
up, and his very soul seemed to be on fire. A 
great interest was awakened ; and many in the 
audience wept. When he spoke of Abraham’s 
leaving his home and friends, sacrificing personal 
ease and comfort, going out, with his life in his 
hands not knowing what would become of him, 
it seemed to Junie that the Bishop was preach- 
ing directly to her. Then, when he came to the 
personal application of his subject, and exhorted 
his hearers in eloquent, burning Avords, to profit 


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by this sublime exhibition of faith, and to obey 
the call of Grod, even if they had to forsake home 
and country, Miss Junie began to suspect that 
Dr. Archer had acquainted him with her history. 
If the supposition had not been too presumptuous 
she would have concluded that the sermon had 
been preached for her special benefit. Of course 
the Bishop knew not that there was such a per- 
son in the congregation as Miss Junie Paine. It 
was just one of those general and abstract dis- 
cussions which frequently find concrete cases 
when the minister is in perfect ignorance of the 
fact. Almost any minister can refer to such in- 
stances that have come under his own observa- 
tion. The Bishop’s application of his subject 
appeared to Junie so personal that she could not 
restrain her tears. Even Milson showed by the 
expression of his eyes that he was deeply affected. 
As for Bertram and Gerie, they looked on as if 
they were greatly amused. What there was in 
the sermon to melt people to tears was beyond 
their comprehension. 

At the close of the sermon the preacher called 
for any in the congregation who desired to be 
prayed for, to come forward. Numbers at once 
availed themselves of the invitation. It was 
evident that a great interest was aroused in the 
church. After a prayer or two and a hymn the 
congregation was dismissed. 

On the way back home Milson and Junie were 
silent till they had passed out of town. Then 


FIERY TRIALS. 


227 

the youQg lady was seized with an inclination to 
cry. Suddenly the unmistakable sound of Aveep- 
ing was heard in Milson’s buggy. 

‘^Miss Junie/’ said Milson, ^‘what is the mat- 
ter? Why do you weep ? ” 

The young lady could make no reply for several 
moments. Milson, who knew nothing of the 
spiritual change that had come over Junie, was 
becoming embarrassed by the situation. He 
knew not what the passer-by might think to see 
him riding with a young lady Avho was making 
demonstrations of such deep grief. At length 
Junie recovered herself sufficiently to say : 

^^0, Mr. Milson, I am miserable. Please ex- 
cuse my emotion. I am incapable of controlling 
my feelings. If you knew all you would not 
blame me.” 

^Tf your trouble/’ said Milson, ‘ds of such a 
character that you can reveal it to me, I am ready 
to serve you in any way that I can.” 

^^Thank you, Ivir. Milson; but I do not think 
you could give me any assistance in my present 
trouble. Since, howeA^er, I have shown so much 
weakness in your presence, you are entitled to 
an explanation. Well, you remember the Sunday 
Ave Avent to hear Dr. Archer preach? ” 

^^Certainly I do.” 

^AVell that sermon made a ^deep and lasting 
impression on my mind. It seems that nothing 
could efface it. At last I called on Dr. Archer, 
Avho succeeded in relieving a portion of my 


228 


FIERY TRIALS. 


troubles ; and that means that I have become a 
believer in the Lord Jesus Christ.” 

‘‘So/’ said Milson, “you are satisfied as to tho 
truth of the Bible ?” 

“Perfectly satisfied, Mr. Milson. I have not 
a doubt of its divine origin.” 

“How did you satisfy yourself?” 

“By reading the book itself. The four gospels 
appeared to me to be written by honest men. I 
accepted their statements as a simple matter of 
history. I could see no good reason to doubt.” 

“But how do you know they tell the truth*? ” 
asked Milson. 

“What object could they possibly have in view 
to utter falsehoods ?” said Junie. “They were 
persecuted even to death ; and yet they could 
not be made to retract a single assertion they had 
made. But it was the purity and excellency of 
their teachings that satisfied me. If they knew 
that what they wrote was false, they must have 
been bad men and hypocrites. Now why should 
hypocrites undergo suffering and death merely to 
perpetrate a known falsehood — and such a false- 
hood as could have been easily detected ? If 
they were bad men, from what source did they 
learn their morality? Why should hypocrites 
travel up and down the world preaching a pure 
religion which condemned themselves and brought 
them into danger? These writers were illiterate 
men, and were utterly incapable of concocting 
such a story as that of Jesus Christ.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


229 

‘T confess, Miss Junie, that your reasoning 
appears plausible. But somehow this sort of 
logic does not satisfy me.” 

^AYell, what kind of evidence would satisfy 
you?” 

hardly know myself,’’ said Milson. ^M>ut 
it seems to me that the appearance of God on 
earth in visible form ought to have made such an 
impression on mankind that the facts of the life 
of Christ could not be denied. It seems to me 
that it ought to have so interwoven itself with all 
history that the truth of the Bible could not he 
disputed by anyone.” 

venture to say,” said Junie timidly, ^That 
some men would dispute it in spite of all history. 
Many of the Jews would not believe in Christ, 
who saw him do the very things that are recorded 
in history. If men would not believe, who had 
occular proof, how would men now, who have the 
same disposition, believe on the mere testimony 
of history? But why do you not go to Dr. 
Archer and talk with him on the subject? I am 
sure that he could throw light on it. I think 
YOU said you intended to investigate.” 

did intend ; but I have not done so.” 

‘T think you would better, Mr. Milson, if I 
may be so bold as to say it. It is a matter of too 
great importance to be postponed. You remem- 
ber that Dr. Archer said that any one could be 
satisfied who would take the trouble to investi- 
gate.” 


230 


FIERY TRIALS. 


would investigate” said Milson, ^^but I do 
not know where to begin. The subject is so much 
out of my line of business that I do not really 
know how to commence.” 

‘T would like to suggest again” said Junie, 
^Hhat you go to Dr. Archer and have a consulta- 
tion with him. I feel certain that you will not 
be disappointed.” 

t-hink I will/’ answered Milson, ^^just so 
soon as I have time.” 

^Tf you would not consider me presumptuous, 
Mr. Milson, I think you would better take time. 
Religion is too important a concern to admit of 
Jelay.” . 

^‘That is true, Miss Junie^ and I intend to 
give the subject my earnest attention. I assure 
you that I am not indifferent. I fully realize the 
necessity of having some fixed principles ; and I 
will follow your advice. I will get Dr. Archer 
to put me on the track of systematic investiga- 
tion.” 

As it was with Milson, so it is with thousands - 
They are somewhat skeptical; and really wish in 
their hearts not to be so; and yet from some 
cause they will not take any steps to have their 
doubts removed. They could soon be satisfied if 
they felt sufficient interest to investigate. But 
procrastination, the cunning thief, steals away the 
golden moments ; and soon they come to the end 
of their mortal career ; and then the shrinking 
soul soon to be forced into the realms of eternity 
hears the sad whisper, too late. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


231 

said Milson suddenly changing the topic, 
^^you have not told me your trouble.” 

‘^No. Well, after becoming a Christian I con- 
ceived it to be my duty to join the church. I 
asked my father’s consent. As you may sup- 
pose, he promptly refused. I thought then I 
would try to lead a Christian life in secret; but 
I have succeeded very poorly. To-day the ser- 
mon has made me feel wretched. I am, I feel, 
neglecting a known duty. I believe I ought to 
join the church at all hazards.” 

‘AVhy not join anyhow in spite of your father’s 
opposition?” 

^Tf I do, Mr. ^lilson, I will have to follow the 
example of Abraham, and leave home, and go 
out, not knowing whither I go. Father has 
threatened to disinherit me, and drive me from 
home.” 

^^He has ? ” 

^‘Yes, sir.” 

^‘Do you believe he will execute his threat ? ” 
have every reason to fear that he will. But, 
Mr. Milson, I will tell you that I have now de- 
termined to leave home in the morning. I cannot 
stand to live another day in the neglect of my 
duty. Abraham had to make a great sacrifice ; 
and it occurs to me that I would be a poor sort 
of Christian if I cannot sacrifice the comforts of 
home for the sake of confessing Christ before 
men. I must try to have some of the faith of 
Abraham. I shall leave home — I must do it — I 
Avill do it.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


232 

Milson looked at her with deep interest. He 
thought how different she was from Gerie — the 
mere painted butterfly who never appeared to 
have a serious thought, but whose mind dwelt 
only on frivolous things. It was strange that he 
had never noticed the difference between them 
until recently. But he had not been thrown 
much in Miss Junie’s company. And now that she 
Avas about to take a step, at the call of duty, 
Avhich Avould leave her without a home and a pro- 
tector, the strong points of her character Avere 
brought out in vivid contrast with the Aveak traits 
of Miss Gerie ; and is it to be w^ondered at that 
she suddenly rose several degrees In Milson’s 
estimation? Why had he never before noticed 
particularly her decidedly classical features ? 
While she sat in the buggy A\dth such a solid look 
of determination, every feature expressive of the 
intensity of her purpose, the conviction seized 
upon Milson’s mind that Miss Junie Avas a jewel 
Avhose true beauties had not been developed. 
Presently he said : 

‘T do admire your devotion to principle. Miss 
Junie ; and if your Avorst anticipations are real- 
ized — that is, you have to leave home — if you 
Avould — ” And Milson paused as if painfully em- 
barrassed. (Take care, impetuous young man !] 

^Tf I Avould Avhat, Mr. Milson? ” asked Junie, 
Avho had no idea Avhat Avas passing through the 
young man’s mind. 

^^Well — nothing,” he replied, as a deep blush 


FIERY TRIALS. 


233 

receded from his face. ••There is no use of say- 
ing anything till it becomes necessary to act. But 
perhaps, Miss Junie, your father will relent. I 
do not soe how he could have the heart to turn 
you out of doors.” 

‘T have no hope that he will retract his threat. 
He has said very positively what he will do.” 

^^Well, where are you going ?” 

shall go to Dr. Archer s to-morrow, and ask 
his advice. Beyond that I have determined upon 
nothing. Like Abraham, I am going out not 
knowing whither. There is another passage of 
Scripture which says, Svhen my father and mother 
forsake me, then the Lord will take nie up.’ I 
have full confidence in the promises of the 
Heavenly father. Abraham trusted God, and I 
feel that I can, too.” 

Miss Junie rose another degree in Mr. Milson’s 
estimation. Well. 

^^Well, Miss Junie, if you are determined on 
this course, with your permission, I will be a 
friend to you whatever may be your trials.” 

^^Thank you, Mr. Milson,” she said, as the 
tears welled up to her eyes. 

hope, though, your father may not be so 
harsh as you are disposed to believe. But if he 
carries out his threat, if you could only — ” Mil- 
son paused again. 

^^Could only what, Mr. Milson ? ” asked Junie, 
a little surprised at his apparent inability to finish 
sentences which seemed to foreshadow something 
of importance. 


2 34 


FIERY TRIALS. 


^^Well, never mind/’ he said slowly and as if 
hesitating about the completion of the sentence, 
some of whose members crept back into his heart. 
J unie could form no idea of what he intended to 
say. ^‘Well, never mind ; we will wait till the 
worst happens.” 

By this time they had reached home. Miss 
Junie appeared to be more cheerful than she had 
been for some days. 

That evening when Milson took his leave he 
said to Junie in a tone and manner that caused 
her to bestow upon him a very searching look : 

^‘When can I see you again?” 

“I do not know. I shall be in town I suppose, 
this week. I intend to go to Dr. Archer’s in the 
morning; and my future course will depend upon 
his advice.” 

^‘Well,” said Milson, “whenever I can be of any 
service, please let me know.” 

Junie said nothing to this beyond thanking 
Mr. Milson for his kind offer. Then they parted. 

That night Junie was engaged in writing. 
After awhile she folded up the letter which she 
had penned and laid it away, 

Monday morning Junie felt quite sad ; but she 
tried to be cheerful. 

That evening when she ordered the carriage 
Col. Paine, to her relief, did not inquire where 
she was going. She had said nothing about the 
church since their last interview ; and he was 
beginning to indulge the hope that she had given 


FIERY TRIALS. 


235 


up what he considered to be a foolish notion. He 
would say nothing that would cause her to think 
that he even suspected the purpose which now 
had assumed in her mind the form of a fixed de- 
termination. He acted and talked just as if she 
had entirely dismissed the matter from her 
thoughts. 

So Junie got into the carriage ; and it was not 
long before she was at the residence of Dr. Arch- 
er. She gave the driver a letter which she 
ordered him to deliver to her father, at the same 
time telling him that she would not go back home 
that evening, and that he needed not return for 
her unless he was sent by Col. Paine. When 
they were seated in the parlor Dr. Archer said : 

have been looking for you for some time. I 
was persuaded that you could not be satisfied.” 

^^No, Doctor, I have not been satisfied. So, to 
make a long story short, I have come to the de- 
termination to join the church, let the conse- 
quences be what they may.” 

^^Your father, I infer from your language has 
not given his consent to this step.” 

‘H have said nothing more to him about it. I 
left home this evening without telling him where 
I was going.” 

am afraid,” said Dr. Archer, thoughtfully, 
‘‘that you have been a little rash. My opinion 
is that you ought to have informed your parent 
in regard to the step you are about to take.” 

“I Avas afraid to do so,” said Miss Junie “after 


FIERY TRIALS. 


236 

he had twice said that he would never give his 
consent. I determined to put myself completely 
in the hands of the Lord and do what I conceived 
to be my duty, and which you told me is my 
duty.” 

“The Lord,” said Dr. Archer, “will not disap- 
point your trust ; but while that is true, we must 
exercise prudence. But now I suppose it is useless 
to talk about it; you have already taken the 
step. What do you propose to do ? or have you 
settled upon any definite course ? ” 

“I suppose I will hear from my father to-mor- 
row. If he says I shall not return home, then I 
will go out like Abraham not knowing whither 
I go,” 

“God grant that you may have the faith of 
Abraham. But you must not forget that he had 
his trials, notwithstanding his faith. You too 
must prepare for trials. But let us wait till we 
hear your father’s decision. Till then you must 
remain with my family. We are glad to have 
you with us.” 

Junie expressed her obligation to the Doctor 
for this generous offer of hospitality, which she 
said she would be forced to accept. So here for 
the present we have her pleasantly located at 
Dr. Archer’s. 

The carriage driver returned ; and Col. Paine 
and Gerie were both surprised to see that the 
expected occupant did not get out. The man 
delivered the letter with which he had been en- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


237 


trusted, after having informed his master that he 
had left Miss Junie at the house of the preacher. 
The Colonel quickly opened the letter and read 
as follows : 

My Dear Father: — It is painful to my feelings to be under the 
necessity of communicating with you in this way. But I have de- 
termined to follow my convictions of duty. I cannot rest satisfied 
to live out of the church. I have resolved to join whatever maybe 
the consequences. You threatened to disinherit me, if I took this 
step. But, dear father, I assure you I do so in no spirit of defiance. 
I tried to comply with your wishes, and thus to render that obedi- 
ence which is due from the child to the parent. But my obedience 
did not assuage the stings of conscience; and at least such obedi- 
ence appeared to me to be sinful, because it involved disobedience 
to God. We must obey God rather than man. I know, dear fath- 
er, you will say that these are foolish notions; but I beg you to 
consider that these notions are with me firm convictions, which it is 
impossible to eradicate. 

I regret that I had to leave home as I did. But I had no reason 
to believe that you would recede from your declaration that I should 
not return if I did join the church. Therefore I left without saying 
anything to you about my intention. I pray for your forgiveness. 
But I am bound, dear father, to heed the dictates of my conscience. 
I dreaded another interview with you on this subject because you 
expressed yourself so emphatically that it left me no room to hope 
for your consent to my joining the church. O, will you forgive 
me ? You know not what an effort it cost me to leave home as I 
did. I will gladly return if you will give me permission to attach 
myself to the church. This I must do, even if the loss of my life is 
the consequence. If, my dear father, you will not forgive me, and 
bid me return home, on the condition named, then God’s will be 
done. I know not what is to become of me ; but I must do my 
duty, if I perish. I make this emphatic affirmation not in defiance, 
but merely to show to you the strength of convictions which I can- 
not stifle. Please let me know your decision. Whatever it may be, 
you shall still have the love of Your affectionate 

JUNIE. 

When Col. Paine had finished this letter he 
handed it to Gerie without the utterance of a 
word. That young lady rapidly glanced over 
the contents, and then said : 

^^Well, what will you do, father ? ” 

"'^What can I do,” said Col. Paine knitting his 
brow, ^^but carry out my threat ? That wretched 
preacher has put this silly notion into her. But 


FIERY TRIALS. 


238 

I am not going to be trifled with ; they cannot 
force me into measures. If Junie joins that 
miserable institution called a church she cannot 
live under my roof — that’s all.” 

^•But, father, y)eop]e will talk about us if you 
don’t allow Junie to come back.” 

^AVould you have me to forfeit my word ? ” 
exclaimed Col. Paine angrily. gave her fair 
warning. She has deliberately disobeyed me ; 
and now she may take the consequences. I care 
not what people may say. I have said it, and I 
will be as good as my word. I will certainly 
have my way in my own house.” 

‘‘But, father, what is to become of h^^r ? How 
will she make her living ? What can a helpless 
thing, like she is, do?” 

“I do not know. I disclaim all responsibility. 
Miss Junie must look out for herself. I am cer- « 
tain I can do without her as well as she can do 
without me. If Dr. Archer thinks it his duty to 
entice her away from home, he may have the 
pleasure of providing for her.” 

“May be Junie will come back home after she 
has tried to make her living.” 

‘‘She may try it” said Coh Paine. “I shall not 
give her a cent. She had no business to leave 
home.” 

Gerie knew it was useless to try to dissuade 
her father from his purpose. So she said noth- 
ing more. She felt sorry that her sister had 
acted in this way ; and she could not imagine 


FIERY TRIALS. 


239 

what Junie intended to do. Then she dreaded 
the disgrace which her sister’s foolish conduct 
would bring upon the family. Yet she hoped that 
Junie would soon be brought to her senses by 
the necessity of gaining a subsistance, and would 
repent of her folly and return home. 

That evening Milson called at Dr. Archer’s. 
He said very little to Junie about her prospects, 
as he could not conceive that Col. Paine could he 
guilty of the meanness of turning his amiable 
daughter out of home, penniless into the world. 
When at a late hour he was bidding the young 
lady adieu, he informed her that the next morn- 
ing he had to leave home, and would be gone for 
several weeks. Business of importance called 
him to Louisville, Ky. He then asked permis- 
sion to see her when he should return. 

^^Certainly, Mr. ’Milson, I shall be delighted to 
see you at any time, though I know not where 
another week may find me.” 

^Tiet us hope for the best,” replied Milson. 
^AVhen I return I hope that I may find you and 
your father perfectly reconciled. I shall rejoice 
to find you at home.” 

^Tf you knew my father, Mr. Milson, as well as 
I do, you could hardly use the word hope in con- 
nection with your good wishes. There is no 
foundation for such a hope as you have express- 
ed. But I thank you.” 

Milson then left her. Miss Junie could not ac- 
count for his manner toward her. But still she 


240 


FIERY TRIALS. 


felt glad that she could trust Milson as a friend 
which he had proposed to be. It was simply the 
relation of a friend which he sought to occupy — 
that was all. Anyhow the thought was pleasant 
that he would be a true friend. So, here was one 
gleam of sunshine. 

The next morning one of Col. Paine’s servants 
brought Junie a letter which she eagerly opened. 
Then she read the following words : 

You have without my consent left your home. If you see proper 
to disobey me in this matter the consequences must rest with your- 
self. Whenever you desire to return home, you can do so by re- 
nouncing the institution which I detest. This is the only condition 
on Avhich you can return. If you decide still to carry put your in- 
tention of attaching yourself to that institution, let me know, and 
I will send you your clothing, but nothing more, and then you may 
regard yourself no longer as my daughter. 

Thus ended the letter. Not even was her fa- 
ther’s signature attached to it. She had not dared 
to hope that her father would revoke his decision; 
but the short letter was so cruel, cold, and desti- 
tute of all sympathy and atfection, that poor Junie 
let it drop on the floor, and then buried her face 
in her hands. She wept bitterly at the thought 
that she was now indeed an outcast from home. 
Presently she sought Dr. Archer and showed him 
the heartless missive. When he had read and 
returned it, she said : 

have not the most remote hope that father 
will ever relent.” 

^‘Well, what is your decision ? ” 

have determined to join the church, as I 
told you, and take the consequences. Nothing 
else will satisfy my conscience.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


241 


child, I approve your decision ; and I 
know that God will bless you. Rut you must 
prepare for severe trials. You do not yet realize 
the position you occupy. But God’s people are 
always tried — some more heavily than others. 
But let us not give way to despondency. It may 
please the good Lord not to expose you to any 
very great trials. We will only have to wait 
and see. If I can, I will see your father soon 
and try to persuade him to relent. So just re- 
main here till Sunday ; and you can join the 
church. And so the matter was settle for the 
present. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

That very day as Dr. Archer was walking 
along the street he met Col. Paine. The preacher 
thought it to be his duty. to intercede for Junie 
who did not seem, according to his view, to fully 
realize the exigencies of the situation. With 
unbounded faith she had obeyed the Scripture in 
its most literal sense, '^fcake no thought for the 
morrow.” She had abandoned her home, it 
appeared without any plans for her support. To 


242 


FIERY TRIALS. 


tell the truth the Doctor was just a little per- 
plexed by the situation. 

He had no intimate acquaintance with the 
infidel, and did not know how his advances might 
be received ; hut still, he did not feel that he 
ought to avoid, on that account, what he con- 
ceived to be his duty. Accordingly he stopped 
on the street, when they had met, and asked Cob 
Paine to grant him the favor of a private inter- 
view. The Colonel with frigid politeness signified 
by a mere monosyllable his willingness to comply 
with the minister’s request, of course having a 
well-grounded suspicion of what would be the 
subject of their conversation. 

When they had found a private place in the 
counting-room of a store-house Dr. Archer broke 
the silence. 

^^Col. Paine,” he said, ‘T desire to talk with 
you in regard to your daughter. Miss Junie.” 

^SSo I suppose,” was the dry answer. 

^Wou know what step she has taken.” 

know she has stepped away from her home.” 

•^She has,” continued Dr. Archer, ^^signified her 
intention of joining my church ; and I cannot — 
I dare not reject her application.” 

^Wou can do just as you please” answered Col. 
Paine with an air of as much indifference as he 
could assume. 

^‘You do not propose then to interfere ?” 

do not, sir. My daughter has seen proper 
to abandon her home without any provocation. I 


FIERY TRIALS. 


243 

have nothing, sir, to conceal in regard to the 
matter, I told her very plainly and distinctly 
what would be the consequence of her joining 
the church. You may know by this time that I 
have no use for the church. I am aware, sir, of 
the difference of your sentiments and mine on 
this subject. You are entitled to your opinions, 
and I am entitled to mine. I claim nothing for 
myself in this respect which I do not accord to 
others.” 

^Tt seems,” said Dr. Archer who had very lit- 
tle hope of effecting a reconciliation between the 
infidel and his daughter, ^That you make some' 
exceptions.” 

understand your insinuation, sir,” said Col. 
Paine with coolness, ^^and I was perfectly aware 
that I had left the Avay open for the exercise of 
your logical acumen. But, sir, if there is any 
crime in the exceptions at which you hint, you 
too are guilty. If you had not interrupted me I 
was going on to say that I claim the right to 
govern my own household.” 

‘T have not sought,” said Dr. Archer, ^To inter- 
fere Avith your family government.” 

do not bring up any such accusation against 
you. I do . not accuse any one of interfering. 
But what I meant to say is this: I have the 
right to make rules for the government of my 
family, and such rules as I see fit to make. I 
recognize your right to do the same for your 
family. Whenever my children violate these 


244 


FIERY TRIALS. 


rules I have the right to inflict such punishment 
as T deem proper. My daughter has deliberately 
violated my rules, and she must suffer the pen- 
alty. I shall not allow my children to rule me.” 

‘T have no desire,” replied Dr. Archer, ‘^to de- 
prive you of any of your rights. But why should 
you be so opposed to your daughter’s joining the 
church ? What harm can it possibly do her ? 
However much you may be opposed to the 
church you cannot say that it is an evil institu- 
tion. We do not propose to make people worse; 
on the contrary, our aim is to elevate their moral 
character, and to make them better citizens. 
Your daughter cannot possibly be injured by her 
connection with an association whose only object 
is the accomplishment of good. Besides, by 
taking this step she will secure the good will and 
sympathy of a host of friends against whose 
moral and social standing you cannot find an ob- 
jection.” 

^‘That may be true” said Col. Paine ; “but 
suppose one of your children should renounce 
your opinions, and leave home, and come to my 
house in order to espouse my principles, what 
Avould you say ? Would you think any more of 
your child for pursuing such a course?” 

“I certainly should not,” answered Dr. Archer. 
“But there is a vast difference between our 
creeds.” 

“0 yes,” said the Colonel with a hardly per- 
ceptible sneer, “I see the drift of what you are 
going to say.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


245 


‘Tf my child/’ said the preacher, not seeming 
to notice the last remark, ^^vere to act in the way 
you have supposed, I should feel deeply grieved; 
because I would be bound to consider that he was 
bringing ruin upon himself.” 

^‘Yet,” replied Col. Paine beginning to manifest 
some warmth, ^‘reverse the circumstances, and I 
suppose I must remain silent. Why may I not 
feel grieved too when my children trample* my 
authority under foot? and may I not think they 
are injuring themselves by giving up my principles 
for yours ? ” 

^^But you forget,” said the preacher, ^That the 
church does not injure anyone.” 

^^That is your view of the matter.” 

‘^Col. Paine,” asked Dr. Archer with great 
solemnity of manner, ‘^do you really believe that 
the church injures anyone ?” 

think it does, sir, if you insist on a plain 
and honest answer.” 

^‘Will you be so kind as to tell me in wdiat the 
injury 'Consists ? ” 

^^My experience with my own family is enough 
for me. My wife was a Christian, and her so-called 
religion made her a gloomy woman. My daughter 
who was once lively and cheerful, for several 
weeks has been moping around, and now has 
deserted her home. I think this ought to be 
sufficient to dissatisfy me with the church, and all 
connected with it. These are two beings whom, 
to my certain knowledge, that the church has seri- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


246 

ously injured. [0, Col. Paine, you have not made a 
true statement of the case.) Why, sir,” con- 
tinued the Colonel with considerable energy, ^^re- 
ligion seems to be a synonym for gloom itself.” 

‘T will insure,” replied Dr. Archer, who did 
not think he had the right to tell the infidel of the 
tyranny which he h.ad practiced in his family 
government, ^That if you will allow your daughter 
to join the church and enjoy its privileges, and 
remain at home, she would be anything else than 
unhappy. It was the thought of incurring your 
displeasure that has caused her to he gloomy. 
There is nothing in religion, as I understand it, 
to make a person unhappy. On the contrary it 
is -a source of the purest joy, and has a tendency 
to make us rejoice even in the midst of trials and 
misfortunes. It presents the most delightful and 
cheering prospects of which it is possible to con- 
ceive. There is nothing in religion itself that 
has made your daughter unhappy ; but her sur- 
roundings have produced her gloom, if such you 
please to call it.” 

‘T do not care to be preached to,” said Col. 
Paine bitterly. have made up my mind. If 
my daughter is at your house, you can inform 
her that I will send her clothing ; and with that 
my obligation to maintain her comes to an end. 
I told her emphatically that I would disinherit 
her, and I will not falsify my word. (Col. Paine 
reminds one of Herod who had such a tender con- 
science that he would not falsify his oath to a 


FIERY TRIALS. 


247 

dancing girl, but did not scruple to murder John 
the Baptist.) When she chooses to give up this 
foolish notion, she can return home, and I will he 
the kind father that I have ever been.” 

•‘What foolish notion?” asked the preacher. 

‘‘Joining the church, sir,” answered Col. Paine 
with a show of firmness in his manner, as if pre- 
pared for any resentment which his remark might 
provoke. He had resolved not to yield an inch 
to Dr. Archer, and not to spare his feelings, if the 
preacher said anything which would admit of a 
harsh reply. 

“You owe to the church,” replied Dr. Archer, 
seeing it was useless to say more in regard to 
Junie, “all the blessings which you enjoy, of a 
civil character.” 

“That assertion requires proof,” interrupted 
Col. Paine, who was beginning to feel that he was 
a match for Dr. Archer. 

“Our republican institutions” continued the 
preacher, “are founded on the Bible. Had it not 
been for that book which you so bitterly denounce, 
we would be nothing but a nation of savages, and 
probably cannibals. The Bible makes our civili- 
zation what it is. As a proof of what I assert, 
you have only to compare our condition with that 
of other nations, and what an immeasurable dif- 
ference there is. Our educational and charitable 
institutions are to be traced to the Bible.” 

“And that same book,” interrupted Col. Paine, 
“which you regard as divine, has caused nations 


248 FIERY TRIALS. 

to roll in blood. Men have taken that book in 
one hand, and the sword in the other, and have 
slain their fellow-beings as if they were wild 
beasts ; and both parties professed to be serving 
the same God that gave them the Bible, or rather 
as they thought, gave it to them.” 

^^Granting,” replied the preacher, ^That your 
charge is not without foundation: Admitting 
that men have been persecuted, on account of 
difference of religious opinions, I ask you can 
you find anything in the Bible which authorizes 
persecution ? Does it not condemn bloodshed ? 
Does not the sentiment run all through it in let- 
ters of gold, ^peace on earth ; good will to men ?’ 
Have you never read in the Bible that heaven- 
born sentiment, ‘love your enemies ?’ Does it 
not command us even to do good to them that 
hate us ?” 

^‘It would seem,” said Col. Paine with a slight 
sneer, ^That the Children of Israel were ignorant 
of these fine, heaven-born sentiments when they 
went into the land of Canaan, and in accordance 
with the command of their imaginary God butch- 
ered. nation after nation in cold blood. That was 
loving their enemies with a vengeance ! ” 

see no difficulty in that at all,” replied Dr. 
Archer. ^‘You are not the first one who has 
brought forward that objection — an objection 
which has been exploded a hundred times. In- 
fidelity is no new thing. Col. Paine. All the 
objections which it is possible for you or anyone 


FIERY TRIALS. 


249 

else to adduce have been often answered. Now 
in reply to what you have asserted in regard to 
the Children of Israel slaying the Canaanites, I 
say that this was done at the command of God. 
These nations had filled up the measure of their 
iniquity. The time had come for their punish- 
ment. God selected the Children of Israel as 
the instrument of their punishment. The Lord 
could just as easily have destroyed them by 
disease or some other means in the way of what 
we call natural causes. He had good reasons for 
employing the Israelites as an agency in the de^ 
struction of these nations. The Lord’s ways are 
past finding out ; and he does not often reveal to 
us the reasons of His conduct. In this particular 
case my opinion is that one of His reasons was 
that he desired the Children of Israel to see for 
themselves how exceedingly sinful these nations 
were that they were ordered to destroy. The 
nations of Canaan were an illustration of wicked- 
ness in its most God-provoking forms. But it 
does not matter. All living beings are God’s 
creatures ; and he has the right to remove them 
from the world as he deems best, I believe that 
to this day God frequently, if he does not so in 
every war which is waged, uses one nation for 
the chastisement of another. The only difference 
is that now no one nation has any direct, revealed 
command to execute the divine sentence on 
another. But I suppose unbelievers, if they 
could have their own way, would not allow any 


FIERY TRIALS. 


250 

wars, and would banish death from the world. 
They profess to be more merciful than God him- 
self. The Lord, even if he does not send diseases 
by a direct exercise of his power, permits them 
to come, and to sweep off women and children by 
millions. The only difference in the two cases is 
that one is a conscious instrument, and the other 
is not. If God for some wise purpose unknown 
to us choose to remove His creatures by death, 
why should He not take them off by the sword 
as well as by disease ? ” 

^^Yes, but,” interrupted Col. Paine, ^dt just 
made the Jews a set of murderers.” 

^‘Ho you consider,” asked Dr. Archer, ^dill 
nations that go to war as murderers ? ” 

‘Df course not. Some wars are justifiable 
and necessary.” 

^‘So was that waged against the Canaanites. 
They were God’s enemies devoted to destruction 
just as many nations have been since that time.” 

do not take that view of the matter,” said 
Col. Paine evidently at a loss for an answer. 

am aware that you do not, but it is the 
proper view to take.” 

^^But,” said Col. Paine,” ‘^changing the sub- 
ject a little just to show how inconsistent your 
Bible is, did not God permit polygamy ? Did he 
not allow the Jews to have just as many wives 
and concubines as they wanted ?” 

‘‘That is another old slander through which 


FIERY TRIALS. 


251 

human depravity has sought to blacken the char- 
acter of God.” 

^^Slander or not/’ said Col. Paine, ^The fact 
cannot be denied.” 

^’Of course it cannot be denied that the Lord 
permitted it — that is, permitted it in the same 
way that he permits any other crime. But do 
you believe. Col. Paine, that God approves of 
everything which men do ?” 

^‘0, as far as I am concerned I do not believe 
there is any such God as Christians worship. I 
have granted the existence of the God of the 
Jews and your God just to avoid argument on 
that head, and just to show how absurd is the 
book which you affirm he has given to men.” 

^^Very well, then; to prevent digression, just 
grant that the God of the Jews does exist. Now 
I ask you, can it be shown anywhere in the Bible 
that God approves of all the sinful deeds that 
men perform? Can it be shown anywhere that 
He approves of murder ? Does He not emphati- 
cally say, ^Thou shalt not kill ?’ ” 

^^Yes, I will grant that the Bible says that.” 

^‘Very well. We read in the second chapter 
of Genesis : ^Wherefore shall a man leave his 
father and mother and cleave to his wife : and 
they shall be one flesh.’ Mark you. Col. Paine,” 
it does not say ^cleave unto his wives’ — but his 
wife. That is as plain as can be. And they — 
that is, this one man and one woman shall be one 
flesh. It seems to me, sir, that any man not dis- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


252 

posed to cavil, would naturally construe that pas- 
sage into a prohibition of prolygamy. But 
remember, sir, that the Lord was acting in the 
capacity of civil ruler of the Jews. He made 
civil laws in regard to murder, because he knew 
that men would commit this crime. He caused 
the Jews to provide cities of Refuge for the man- 
slayer. You certainly will not contend that God 
sanctioned and authorized murder, because He 
made these regulations in regard to it. Another 
commandment is Thou shalt not steal hut God 
made laws and regulations in reference to theft. 
Now will you take the position that because He 
did this as a civil ruler, that he authorized the J ews 
to violate His own positive commandment. Now 
then the Lord spoke of polygamy as existing, or 
even granting that He made laws and regulations 
in regard to it, you cannot say that God approved 
of it, any more than He approved of murder or 
theft. The whole difficulty arises out of the 
fact that men confound the moral law with the 
civil law of the Jews. The Lord dealt with them 
as weak and erring beings. He gave laws to 
them just as any other law-giver would, knowing 
that his laws would be violated.” 

^‘But then,” said Col. Paine, ^^God ought not 
to have made any regulations in regard to polyg- 
amy. He ought to have said in plain terms 
Thou shalt not have but one wife,’ if it was 
wrong.” 

^‘On the very same principle,” said the preacher. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


253 


ought not to have made any laws in regard 
to murder and theft. Why, according to your 
reasoning, Col. Paine, God ought not to have 
given the Jews any civil laws at all ; but ought 
merely to have told them what was right, and 
left them without any farther directions.” 

^‘My reasoning does not lead to such conclusion, 
Dr. Archer,’’ replied Col. Paine exhibiting some 
vexation. assert upon the authority of your 
Bible that your God did tolerate polygamy with- 
out any rebuke or reproof. Why, sir, did not 
Solomon have about a thousand wives ? ” 

^Tf he had ten thousand,” replied Dr. Archer, 
^^you cannot show that God approved of Solomon’s 
conduct. It seems. Col. Paine, that you want to 
make God responsible for men’s sinful actions.” 

^Wou are determined. Dr. Archer, so it appears, 
that you cannot or will not apprehend my mean- 
mg. 

^Wour accusation is unjust. Col. Paine. I have 
certainly answered you as I understood you. I 
have not purposely avoided a single objection or 
argument that you have adduced. Now just 
show me w^herein I have failed to catch your 
meaning.” 

^^Well, I said that your God did not rebuke — 
that is he did not directly disapprove of polyga- 
my — he did not attach any penalty to its prac- 
tice. Now you understand me.” 

‘‘’0, yes, that proposition is easily compre- 
hended ; and I will answer. I can find in the 


254 


FIERY TRIALS. 


book of Exodus, I know not how many laAvs and 
directions to which no penalty is attached in 
words. The penalty follows as a necessary con- 
sequence in the reflex action of the violation of 
the law. There are some sins about which God 
says nothing directly. If they are committed, 
they naturally work out their own penalty. In 
regard to some sins the Lord merely gives warn, 
ing; and if we commit them, what you call nature 
inflicts the penalty. Let me ask. Col. Paine, 
if you approve of polygamy?” 

^^Of course I do not, sir.” 

^^Why not?” 

^^Because, sir, it is contrary to nature — it leads 
to disastrous social consequences.” 

^^Then,” said Dr. Archer, ^^you have solved 
your own problem. Because, if it is contrary to 
nature, then nature will punish the crime.” 

‘^0, well;” said Col. Paine, who felt that he 
was defeated on this point, ’At is really useless 
to argue upon such a subject or any other of 
which the Bible treats, because the book itself 
is nothing but a human production. No God 
ever wrote it or ordered it to be written. So it 
does not matter even if you clear up its many 
inconsistencies.” 

^•Well,” said Dr. Archer smiling, (Any man can 
afford to smile when he feels that he has gained 
the victory over his opponent.] ‘flt seems you 
admit that what you call an inconsistency can be 


FIERY TRIALS. 


255 

explained. And now I will take occasion to say 
that every inconsistency to which you can point 
can be explained, and has been explained, of 
course excepting some things which God intended 
should he involved in mystery. But any mate- 
rial fact can be explained ; and I am persuaded 
that men would find little difficulty, if they would 
honestly investigate. But now you have made a 
wide digression. You change the subject, and 
you make the broad, sweeping assertion that God 
had nothing to do with the Bible. You say that 
it is a human production ; can you tell me when 
it was written ?” 

^‘That would be hard to do,” said Col. Paine 
with a sort of smile which he intended to be full 
of deep significance, ^‘quite hard to do, sir. I 
should think you ought to be the man to tell that. 
But I have no idea that it was written at the 
time you will claim for it. I have no idea that 
Moses wrote his part of it fifteen hundred years 
before Christ.” 

do not see how you can affirm that with 
such confidence,” said Dr. Archer. ^'But let us 
see if we cannot determine something as to the 
time it was written ^ for this is a very important 
factor in the argument. You are hound to admit 
that the Old Testament was in existence in the 
time of Jesus Christ.” 

^^0 yes,” said Col. Paine, admit that as a 
matter of history.” 

^AYell, if you grant that much, you are bound 


FIERY TRIALS. 


256 

to admit that it was in existence nearly three hun- 
dred years before that time.” 

‘T am not bound to admit any such thing,” 
quickly exclaimed Col. Paine, who was deter- 
mined that he would not admit too much in the 
very out-set. 

^^But I insist that you are.” 

“Why am I ?” 

“Because Christ and the sacred writers quote 
from the Septuagint, which was the Greek ver- 
sion of the Old Testament. It was translated at 
least two hundred and eighty years before Christ. 
You well know. Col. Paine that this is a matter of 
history.” 

“0, well, you can have the benefit of that. It 
is a matter of no great importance either way.” 

“But, begging your pardon, I think it is a mat- 
ter of great importance. Because if we can trace 
the Bible back that far, we stand on firm ground. 
So, it could not have been written since then.” 

“Of course not.” 

“If then it was translated nearly three hundred 
years before Christ it must have been in exis- 
tence a long time before then. You say with an 
air of the utmost confidence that Moses did not 
write the Pentateuch. You ought to be able to 
state then who did write it.” 

“I have not thought of the subject for some 
time,” said Col. Paine, ^‘but I am trying to recall 
the name of the man who I think forged it merely 
to gratify the vanity of the Jews. I believe 
Ezra is the name.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 257 

^‘Yes ; that is the position of your party. 
They assert this in the face of the very plainest 
evidence to the contrary. Your idea is then that 
Ezra imposed it on the Jews, and that they never 
heard of it before.” 

^^That is just my notion.” 

^^Suppose it can be proved that the Pentateuch 
was in existence before that time, can you im- 
agine any period previous to that time that it 
could have been imposed on the Jews ? ’’ 

am satisfied,” answered the infidel, ^That 
Ezra was the man who wrote it.” 

^^Well, Col. Paine,” said Dr. Archer, surprised 
at the ignorance of his opponent on the subject, 
‘^you will soon bring our discussion to a close by 
your very admissions. You certainly, sir, re- 
member that the Jews and Samaritans were bitter 
enemies. Well, the Samaritans had a version 
of the Mosaic Law ; and they were in existence 
between seven hundred and eight hundred 
years before the time of Christ, and nearly two 
hundred years before Ezra went back to Jerusa- 
lem. The Jewish and Samaritan versions are so 
nearly alike that both must have been obtained 
from the same source. So it is just as clear as 
daylight that Ezra could not have forged it.” 

Col. Paine was vexed. He saw that he could 
not sustain his position. So he resolved to change 
his tactics. 

^’0 well,” he said, ^fit does not matter who 
wrote it. You may have it that Moses wrote it. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


25S 

and at any time or place you please. It remains 
to be proved that Moses was directed by his God 
or any other God. You have got to prove that 
the Bible contains the truth, — which I imagine 
will be a rather difficult matter to do. You have 
simply got the w^ord of Moses for it. Why do 
not early profane historians say something about 
Moses and his exploits ? ” 

am really surprised/' said Dr. Archer in 
some astonishment, ^That a man of your intelli- 
gence should ask such a question. Profane his- 
torians do speak of Moses.” 

^^Who are they ? ” 

‘‘Well, Manetho, Cheremon, Apollonius, and 
Lysimachus, besides some other ancient Egyp- 
tians, whose histories have been lost, are quoted 
by Josephus as extant in his days; and passages 
are collected from them, in which they agree that 
Moses was the leader of the Children of Israel 
when they went out of Egypt, and that he gave 
them their laws. Strabo also speaks of Moses. 
Justin, a Homan historian, gives an account of 
the origin of the Jews ; and he speaks of Moses 
and the priesthood of Aaron. Pliny speaks of 
Moses. A sentence of Tacitus I distinctly re- 
member : ‘Moses gave a new form of worship to 
the Jews, and a system of religious ceremonies, 
the reverse of every thing known to any other 
age or country.’ Then I refer to Juvenal, and 
Longinus, and Diodorus Siculus, and Justin 
Martyr. Now from all these testimonies, and 


FIERY TRIALS. 


259 

many more can be adduced, if you are not satis- 
fied, it is clear that it was generally believed 
among ancient nations as among the Jews them- 
selves, that Moses was the founder and lawgiver 
of the Jewish state. So, sir, we do have some 
other testimony besides that of Moses. But, 
with your admissions, it is hardly necessary to 
refer to these authorities. Because when you 
grant that Moses wrote the portions of the Scrip- 
tures which are ascribed to him, you virtually 
give up the question.” 

^^Why do I?” 

^^Because if Moses told falsehoods he certainly 
would have been detected. He informed the 
children of Israel that he had led them through 
the Red sea which was opened for their benefit. 
If it had not been true they would have contra- 
dicted him at once.” 

^‘But they had no reason to contradict him,” 
said Col. Paine. ‘Tt was gratifying to their van- 
ity that nations should believe that they had been 
preserved by miraculous means.” 

^^But, on the contrary,” said the preacher, 
‘‘they had every reason to contradict him. For 
they often rebelled against his authority. At 
such times, why did they not tell Moses it was 
not true that they had crossed the sea in the way 
he had stated, and that they had not been fed 
with manna that fell from the heavens. If these 
things, and others of a miraculous character had 
not been true they would certainly have accused 


26 o 


FIERY TRIALS. 


Moses of imposture. You say their miraculous 
history was gratifying to their vanity. But do 
you believe that to gratify their vanity they would 
have submitted to the burdensome ritual of the 
Mosaic dispensation. How could they gratify 
their vanity or gain credit to their miraculous 
history by sacrificing their sheep every day. The 
observance of the requirements of their system 
of worship would have exposed them to the 
greatest danger if they had not been under divine 
protection. For instance, all the males had to 
repair to Jerusalem three times in the year, thus 
leaving their women and children exposed to the 
attacks of their enemies. In a word, the whole 
Levitical system imposed such burdens as had no 
tendency to gratify the vanity of the Jews. If 
they were trying to impose on mankind by 
making it appear that they were special objects 
of divine care, they would never have suffered 
Moses to relate some circumstances concernins: 
themselves which tended to disparage them in 
the estimation of the world. The Jews were the 
greatest simpletons that ever lived in the world, 
if they had permitted some portions of their his- 
tory to go down to future generations as true, 
which they knew to be false. I can explain 
their conduct on no other principle or hypothesis 
than that Moses gives us a true history. If it is 
false, we have the strange spectacle of a whole 
nation combining to publish a long string of false- 
hoods which could only bring upon themselves 


FIERY TRIALS. 


261 


disgrace, and which could he easily detected.” 

Seeing that Col. Paine was becoming restive, 
Dr. Archer thought it best not to press the mat- 
ter. So he said : 

course. Col. Paine, in a common conversa- 
tion it is impossible to enter into any extensive 
discussion of this subject. If you had any dis- 
position to investigate the matter I would gladly 
lend you some books which you would find worthy 
of a careful perusal, and would convince any 
man, free from prejudice, of the truth of the 
Bible.” 

^^Thank you, sir,” said Col. Paine very coolly, 
^^but I think I am capable of selecting my own 
books. And now^,” he said rising, ‘T call you to 
witness that this controversy is not of my seek- 
ing. I am not given to discussions of this sort, 
and I never seek to convert other people to my 
belief. They can believe wdiat they please ; and 
I claim the same privilege for myself. Now, sir, 
if you have no further business with me I Avill 
bid you good day.” 

^^Before we part,” said Dr. Archer, ^^suffer me 
to make one more appeal to you in behalf of 
your daughter. I plead with you, sir, and I beg 
you for your self-respect not to cast off your 
helpless daughter, who, at her age is incapable of 
fighting the battle of life unaided. She has no 
experience with the world. Will you see her 
struggling with the ills of poverty and — ” 

do not conceive,” quickly interrupted Col. 


262 


FIERY TRIALS. 


Paine in a peevish manner, ^That I am to blame 
at all in the matter. Mv daughter did not con- 
sult me in regard to the step which she has taken, 
or is about to take.” 

^^The reason she did not was because you had 
expressed yourself so positively on the subject.” 

“Very well. All I have to say is that she can 
return home only on the condition which I have 
named. I hope you understand me perfectly. 
x\nd now, sir, as I have business to attend to, if 
you will excuse me I bid you adieu.” 

It was useless to try to detain the cruel father 
in order to persuade him to relent. What Dr. 
Archer had said to him only made him the more 
determined to execute his threat. He had been 
fairly defeated in their short discussion ; and the 
consciousness that he was no match for Dr. 
Archer was provoking. Nothing now could in- 
duce him to swerve from his purpose. He 
resolved that no matter what unfavorable criti- 
cism his conduct might provoke the disobedient 
Junie should suffer the consequences of her op- 
position to his wishes. 

Dr. Archer went Lack home with a sorrowful 
heart. He informed Junie of the interview with 
her father, so that she might prepare for the 
worst. 

^^She Avaited quietly till the Sabbath, and was 
then received into the church. Of course such 
an accession under such circumstances created a 
little sensation. When the circumstances were 


FIERY TRIALS. 263 

learned a number of the members went to Junie 
and offered her a home till she could determine 
upon her future course. But she went back to 
Dr. Archer s, as she desired next morning to 
consult him in regard to a plan whose execution 
would relieve all friends of the burden of her 
support. 


CHAPTER XV. 

It is now time to direct our attention to anoth- 
er party to whom very little prominence has thus 
far been given in the progress of our story. It is 
also our design to notice in the present chapter 
events which throw further light upon Bertram’s 
intention^ and which give us an insight into his 
real character. The mask must now be removed. 

The reader has already been informed that Col. 
Paine was the parent of three children — two 
daughters and a son. It is the son with whom 
we are at present concerned. Romulus Paine 
had now reached an age at which boys generally 
receive that bias of character which determines 
their position in society. A boy, up to a certain age 
may be very wild or he may be very moral ; and 
still we cannot predict with any certainty his so- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


264 

cial or religious destiny. He may astonish us 
by a sudden turn in his course either gladdening 
or saddening the hearts of his parents and friends. 
But when he reaches the point in his career at 
which he manifests restiveness under the reins 
of parental authority, and comes to the conclusion 
that he no longer stands in need of any sort of 
guardianship, but is perfectly capable of self-gov- 
ernment, he has come to the crisis of his history. 
His whole future life, as a general rule, depends 
on the direction he starts from this critical point. 

Rommie, as he was familiarly called, like the 
daughter’s of Col. Paine, had been allowed gen- 
erally to have his own way. Owing however to 
the difference of their relations on account of sex 
Rommie had been most grievously neglected. 
We will have to throw the mantle of charity over 
the faults and failings of his poor mother. She 
could not give her boy such training and instruc- 
tion as she desired he should receive. A stronor 

O 

current was against her, and she yielded to its 
force. The boy was soon beyond her influence. 
Col. Paine himself seemed to care very little for 
the boy anyway. There was nothing in Rommie 
which was calculated to arouse the father’s pride 
or to call forth his admiration. So the boy grew 
up in ignorance of the existence of a God. It is 
true he had heard the negroes on the plantation 
say something about God; but he had frequently 
heard his father assert that no such being exist- 
ed. So that this matter as a subject of thought 


FIERY TRIALS. 265 

rarely ever occupied Lommie’s attention for a 
moment. Such being the state of things there 
was no restraint upon his evil propensities. The 
boy resembled his lather in disposition. His 
temper was violent; and he made no effort to 
govern it. He had gone to school but little, as 
this sort of discipline was not in accordance with 
his tastes; and his fiither cared so little about 
his unpromising son that he would not take the 
trouble to force him to go. So Rommie left the 
school-room in disgust, and spent his time in the 
woods with his gun and dogs, and in the fields 
Avith the slaves who were his principal associates. 

But Rommie had now reached the age at which 
he began to lose somewhat his relish for the 
sports of childhood. He began to have a little 
higher ambition than to go with the negroes fish- 
ing and robbing bird’s nests on Sundays. He 
must now begin to play the man. This ambition 
Avas encouraged by Bertram, Avho seemed to take 
a fancy to the boy ; and Rommie Avas equally 
delighted Avith his sister’s suitor. Bertram was 
the first white person Avho appeared to manifest 
the slightest interest in him ; and it is therefore 
no Avonder that Rommie should reciprocate this 
apparent affection at a compound rate. Bertram 
had this field to himself. There Avas no one to 
divide this boy’s affections Avith him. Whenever 
he Avent to Holly Springs, which he noAV very 
frequently did, he was sure to call at Bertram’s 
office, Avhere he always met Avith a Avann welcome. 


266 


FIERY TRIALS. 


Rommie was infatuated with this elegant gentle- 
man who paid so much attention to him. Ber- 
tram saw that he was a reckless boy ; and for a 
purpose which will soon be revealed, he endeav- 
ored to acquire unbounded influence over his 
new-found protege. By degrees he got the boy 
to smoking, and then to drinking a little, and 
then to playing cards. Then he began to put 
bad books into his hands — chiefly the lives and 
exploits of celebrated highwaymen. These^char- 
acters Bertram slyly and cautiously praised, 
insinuating in guarded terms that they were great 
heroes, till it was plain that Rommie felt an ab- 
sorbing interest in such literature. At last he 
was so delighted with these heroes that he said 
to Bertram he wished he were a highwayman 
himself. He thought it would be an exhibition 
of his manhood to command people to ^^stand 
and deliver,” and on their refusal to yield prompt 
obedience, to silence them with his pistol or 
bowie-knife. At the expression of this wish 
Bertram smiled approvingly. But when he had 
learned enough of the boy’s proclivities to satisfy 
himself that his young friend could be trusted, 
he asked him one day how he would like to join 
a clan of brave men who rode splendid horses and 
carried fine guns and pistols and glittering knives, 
and who had plenty of money. Though Col. 
Paine was wealthy, yet he had never been very 
liberal with it toward Rommie. The consequence 
was he did not have as much pocket-change as 


FIERY TRIALS. 


267 

he desired ; and he was now beginning to feel 
the necessity of having more money. So his 
eyes fairly glittered when Bertram proposed the 
question of joining the robbers. The substance 
of his reply was that he would be glad to do so, 
if he had the opportunity. Bertram then very 
cautiously gave him to understand that there 
was such an organization not very far off, com- 
posed of dashing gentlemen. When Rommie 
asked Bertram if he belonged to the organization, 
he replied that he did not; but that he intended 
to join if they would receive him. He further 
told Rommie that ho would see the chief in a 
few days, and that Rommie might accompany 
him, and then they would see about becoming 
members of the organization. 

am,” said Bertram, ^Tired of the life I am 
leading. I want some exciting adventures.” 

Then he went on to describe in glowing terms 
what a jolly life he had heard that these men 
led. The boy was wild with excitement. He 
wanted to see the chief as soon as possible. 
Bertram told him to keep quiet for a few day’s, 
and his wishes should be gratified. 

^^Now,” said Bertram, ‘^you must not even hint 
that you have any knowledge of the existence of 
such a clan. If you do, you will spoil our pros- 
pects.” 

Rommie promised to observe the utmost secre- 
sy, and he faithfully kept his word. He thought 
in his young and foolish heart that it was a great 


268 


FIERY TRL^LS. 


thing to be entrusted with such a secret. He 
rose several degrees in his own estimation, and 
felt that he had suddenly stepped up to the 
elevation of manhood, and was a fit companion 
for Bertram. 

It might occur to the reader that Bertram ran 
some risk in talking in this way to a boy, and 
almost revealing his connection with a clan of 
robbers. But he was a good judge of human na- 
. ture ; and he had studied Rommie very thor- 
oughly before imparting this information. He 
felt sure that he would not be betrayed. He had 
found in this boy one who would not scruple to 
do a deed of shame. 

On Monday morning following the Sabbath on 
which Miss Junie joined the church, Bertram and 
Bommie on horseback left the town of Holly 
Springs. Col. Paine offered no objection to his 
son’s accompanying one, who he believed would 
soon occupy a closer relation to him than that of 
friend. Indeed he cared little where Rommie 
went. 

The two traveled on Monday till they reached 
Oxford, which then was nothing but a small vil- 
lage. Now it is the site of the University of 
Mississippi — one of the ^finest educational insti- 
tutions of the South. The next day the two 
proceeded in a southerly direction toward the 
town of Coffeeville. About noon they came to a 
halt on the bank of the beautiful little creek that 
now meanders through the streets of Water Val- 


FIERY TRIALS. 269 

ley. The traveler who now passes through 
these localities can hardly realize the fact that 
this portion of the country not a great while ago 
was a wild wilderness. No one then dreamed 
that the railroad whistle would send echoes 
among the hills and vales that intervened between 
Oxford and Grenada. No one then suspected 
that a thriving city, noisy wdth the incessant rat- 
tle and clink and clang of mills and machine 
shops and foundries, would spring up all along 
and over that little creek which wandered idly 
through the tangled forest till it was lost in the 
Yockana river. Then, all through that portion 
of our country the silence was broken scarcely 
by any sound save the voice of wild animals ; 
and not a great while before this the yell of the 
Indian could have been heard. 

Our reader needs not therefore be surprised at 
the information that when Bertram and Romniie 
left the main road and turned into the forest 
they were completely hidden from view. Ber- 
tram told Rommie to alight, and he would soon 
be introduced to the bravest man he ever beheld. 
They remained probably about an hour, and then 
they heard a noise as of some one approaching. 
In a moment a shrill whistle was heard, which 
was responded to by Bertram ; then a solitary 
horseman rode out and alighted. He shook 
hands heartily with Bertram, and said : 

^T am glad to find you here on tim.e ; but 
who’s this with you ?” 


2J0 


FIERY TRIALS. 


‘^0/’ said Bertram, ‘This is a young friend of 
mine — Mr. Bommie Paine, Col. Murrell.” It 
was the famous and infamous John A. Murrell. 

The history of this man would be a wide de- 
parture from our story. We deem it sufficient 
to say, for our purpose, that he was the leader of 
a large gang of robbers. The strange part of 
the history is that they were not all cut-throats 
and desperadoes. It was discovered, or at least 
believed, that men who stood high in society had 
some connection with this gang. Some of those 
suspected occupied even high official position. 
The reader who has no acquaintance with Mur- 
rell’s history needs not be surprised that such a 
one as Bertram belonged to this clan. He was 
a lawyer ; and whenever any of the gang happened 
to be arrested he always took their case. By 
means of witnesses, ^who also belonged to the 
organization, and jurors who were in the same 
condition, Bertram managed to gain nearly all 
his cases. The culprits, many of whom richly 
deserved hanging, somehow got off scot-free. If 
any were caught with stolen horses Bertram 
managed to prove that the rogues had not been 
guilty of theft. By his false witnesses and packed 
juries, and other similar trickeries, he established 
the fact legally that the horses had been honestly 
bought from some other parties who had disap- 
peared. So Bertram was the lawyer for the 
clan in this portion of the country ; and it needs 
hardly be added that he was of invaluable service 
to them. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


271 

III a few moments after the meeting of the 
above-mentioned trio, Bertram requested Rom- 
mie to remain with the horses while he and Mur- 
rell went off a short distance to have an interview 
on business of importance. The two men then 
seated themselves on a log, and conversed upon 
subjects that can be of no particular interest to 
our reader. Murrell informed Bertram that one 
of the clan had been recently arrested, and that 
his trial would soon come off at Coffeeville, and 
that his legal services would be necessary. 

^AYe have got everything arranged so that there 
will not be much difficulty in the case. Now 
then,” continued Murrell, after a momentary 
pause, ^^coming to business, I’m in need of money. 
I’ve been lending you money from time to time ; 
can’t you return some of it?” 

‘‘Not till a project which I have in view, is ex- 
ecuted,” replied Bertram. “When that succeeds 
I will pay you back every cent and good interest 
too.” 

“What sort of project ?” asked Murrell. 

“That boy with the horses ” 

“Yes,” interrupted Murrell, “that boy ; before 
we go any further tell me something about him. 
What use do you expect to put him to ?” 

“I found him near Holly Springs, replied Ber- 
tram; “and I have been associated with him for 
some time. You know not what a spirit of daring 
is in that boy. He is destitute of all sense of 
fear, as you may see from his looks.” 


272 


FIERY TRIALS. 


‘^0 yes/’ said Murrell, ‘T see that he has the 
Idok of a little fiend.” 

“Well, I want him sworn into our organiza- 
tion. He has not yet performed any deed that 
would make him amendable to the law ; but I 
will find an opportunity for him to commit an of- 
fense which will make him faithful to us forever.” 

“Very well,” said Murrell, “I understand that; 
but what has that boy to do with 3 mur project ?” 

“That ugly hoy has a sister.” 

“Yes,” said Murrell with a smile, “I see. 
You’re always getting into scrapes with some 
hoy’s sister.” 

“But hold,” said Bertram, “till you hear me 
through. That boy, notwithstanding the fact 
that he is not a Narcissus, to fall in love with the 
reflection of his own face in a fountain, has a 
sister who is the living incarnation of beaut}" 
itself. I tell you that if there are any such be- 
ings as angels, she belongs to that class.” 

“0, nonsense,” interrupted Murrell, “what 
care we for angels. Come to business.” 

“But, you won’t give me time to explain,” 
said Bertram. “I am gradually preparing you 
for the denouement, as the novelists call it. I 
don’t want to shock your nerves b}" any sudden 
out-burst of light.” 

“Well, go on then.” 

“As I said that boy’s sister is the veiy per- 
sonification of grace and loveliness.” 

“I understand that,” said Murrell, with some 
impatience. “Come to business.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


273 

^‘Well then,” said Bertram, ‘To make a long 
story short, my notion is to marry her, pretty 
soon.” 

^^Marry her !” exclaimed Murrell. 

“Yes, marry her.” 

“Why, man,” said Murrell, “how many more 
wives do you want ? To my certain knowledge 
you have now three living wives. You will get 
yourself into an ugly scrape after a while. I do 
wish you would quit that sort of business. You 
will get trapped sooner or later.” 

“Hear me through,” said Bertram quietly. 
“The other three wives I married for money ; and 
I did not get any worth talking about. But that 
ugly boy’s sister I really love.” 

“Well,” said Murrell manifesting a considerable 
degree of vexation, “now you’re going to play 
the fool sure enough. I thought you had too 
much grit for that.” 

“You will approve, I think, the step I am about 
to take when you know all. For the girl’s father 
is very rich.” 

“So you thought about the others.” 

“Yes ; but I have learned something by ex- 
perience. I am not mistaken this time. Well,” 
continued Bertram, “the old man is very fond of 
gaming, and is given to drink. If I become his 
son-in-law I can just wind him around my finger, 
lie already has unbounded confidence in me ; and 
when a more intimate relationship is established 
between us his confidence will be greatly in- 


274 FIERY TRIALS. 

creased, and then I can leisurely carry out my 
project.” 

^‘What is your project? ” 

^Tt is just this : I will get him to go to Mem- 
phis, sometime when his cotton crop is ready for 
market, I want you and another of the clan to 
meet us there ; and then we will get him to play- 
ing cards you understand ? ” 

^‘Yes, I see.” 

^^We will break him up root and branch, and 
then I will put out for parts unknown.” 

^^And desert your wife again,” said Murrell 
with a grim smile. 

don’t know about that,” said Bertram very 
coolly. ^^That depends on circumstances. If 
my present sentiments*^ do not undergo any change, 
I will not abandon her. But if they do, it will 
be an easy matter to put a long distance between 
us. I would rather wait for the old fellow to 
die,” continued Bertram after a short pause, 
^^but there is not much probability of such an 
event soon. If I conclude not to leave my in- 
tended wife, the execution of my project may 
require us to hasten that dreadful event which 
will come to the old man in the course of time. 
You understand ? ” 

^‘Yes, I get your meaning.” 

^‘Some things,” said Bertram, ‘bnust be left for 
future consideration. We will get the old fellow 
to Memphis, and then determine how he shall be 
disposed of Now that is my scheme ; what think 
you ? ” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


275 

^Tt is deep laid/’ answered Murrell. ‘^But 
what is the girl’s father worth ? ” 

^^Not less than two hundred thousand dollars.” 

^‘That will do; that will pay us very hand- 
somely.” 

think so.” 

^^But I wish/’ said Murrell, ^^you could carry 
out the plan without marrying the girl. Women 
sometimes cause a great deal of trouble in busi- 
ness of this kind.” 

can succeed much better by marrying her. 
Besides, you seem to forget that I am enamored 
of her.” 

^‘That is the very thing I’m afraid of. Love 
often makes men fools. You may be so despe- 
rately smitten with your new wife that you may 
conclude to give up the project altogether, and 
leave me in the lurch. Y^ou may acquire too 
much respect for your father-in-law to deal with 
him as you have said.” 

Murrell would not have made such a remark 
as this if he had known all the hidden depths of 
depravity and cold-blooded villainy of Bertram’s 
heart. Under that polished exterior he concealed 
as much brutish selfishness aiid terpitude as 
could well belong to one human being. We may 
exhaust the means which language affords to 
portray the most unprincipled features of human 
character; and yet there is in the nature of some 
men a species of scoundrelism, of which no words 
can convey the true idea. We know what it is 


FIERY TRIALS. 


276 

only by viewing the fruits in their actions. Ber- 
tram was one of this class of men. So to Mur- 
rell’s last remark he replied : 

^^There is no danger of that. I will think less 
of him after I become his son-in-law than I do 
now. He is the worst old Atheist you ever saw. 
The old fellow though has considerable influence 
about Holl}^ Springs, and I pretend to be one of 
his disciples — not much pretence about it either, 
because I really do not believe there is any God. 
But when I am with Col. Paine, for that is the 
name of the girl’s father, I hold to all his opin- 
ions, whether I believe them or not ; and so I am 
regarded as one of his followers. But really 
there is nothing about the man to call forth es- 
teem that I can discover. His wife died not long 
since of a broken heart, from all I could learn. 
The woman was a Christian ; but he would never 
suffer her to go to church, nor even to read the 
Bible. I never met with a more prejudiced man 
in all my short life. He therefore deserves the 
fate which I am trying to work up for him.” 

^^Well,you maybe right,” said Murrell thought- 
fully, ‘^and I hope you may be successful. But 
you must do something to raise me some money.” 

^^That is ’what I am going to do. Then I will 
more than pay you.” 

^‘^What use” said Murrell, ^Mo you intend to 
make of this boy in the execution of your 
scheme ?” 

^^None at all. I liked his looks, and I thought 


FIERY TRIALS. 


277 


that at some time he might be useful in the way 
of a scape-goat, if in no other. But I believe 
that as soon as he is a little older he can be made 
as serviceable as any member of our association. 
I do not think he will hesitate to perform what- 
ever he may be ordered.'’ 

^^Of course,” said Murrell, ‘^you propose to 
keep him in ignorance of your intentions in re- 
gard to his father ?” 

^^Certainly ; I would not dare to let him into 
the secret. And still I believe the boy would 
help to ruin his own father if I ordered him. 
There is no love lost between them any way.” 

But I do not know that it would be prudent 
ever to let him know by what means the Paine 
property passed into our hands. It might make 
trouble for us some years hence.” 

^^You are right,” said Murrell. Have you 
made arrangements for your marriage with the 
girl ?” 

‘^Not yet,” replied Bertram. ‘T have moved 
slowly and cautiously. I desired to see you be- 
fore I went too far. I have not proposed to her 
yet ; but I am just as certain as I can be of 
anything which I do not positively know, that 
she will not reject my suit. Now that it meets 
with your approbation I will propose as soon as 
I return, and will consummate the marriage as 
soon as possible, and then I will notify you when 
to meet me in Memphis with Col. Paine.” 

‘‘Well Brock ” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


278 

‘^You forget/’ interrupted Bertram, that I do 
not go by that name now. 

‘T had not forgotten/’ said Murrell, ‘^bufc when 
we are alone it is more natural to call you by 
your true name.” 

‘Linother thing of some importance,” said Ber- 
tram. ^^There is to be an election soon, you 
know. I am going to become a candidate for the 
office of District Attorney. You and the boys 
must muster your forces, and use all your influ- 
ence to secure my election. If I succeed in get- 
ting that office I can be of more service to the 
clan than in my present position. I will prose- 
cute in such a way that our men will be certain 
to escape. You understand?” 

^‘Now you’re talking sense,” replied Murrell. 

was going to make that very proposition ; but 
I’m glad you see the importance of that thing. 
With you in that position we can manage matters 
as we please. You can often put in a Nol-Pros, 
and thus put an end to what might be an ugly 
scrape. I think Ave can manage to have you 
elected. I tell you. Brock, you Avould make a 
first-class diplomatist.” 

^‘Don’t call me Brock in the presence of that 
boy,” quickly said Bertram, not paying any 
attention to the compliment. 

^^No, I Avill not,” ansAvered Murrell ; ^^3^011 need 
not have any fear. I Avould not be so forgetful 
as that.” 

The two men then talked for a short time about 


FIERY TRIALS. 


279 

some general matters pertaining to the clan, ami 
returned to Rommie whom they had left with the- 
horses. IMurrell engaged him in conversation for 
a while in order to satisfy himself that Bertram 
was not mistaken in his estimate of the lad’s 
character. But it did not require any great 
length of time to convince him that Rommie 
would do to trust. His villainous look was’almost 
enough of itself. He then gave Rommie to 
understand that before anything more could be 
revealed he must take the oath that was admin- 
istered to all the clan. 

‘^Do you consent ? ” asked Murrell. 

‘^0, yes ; I’m willin,” said the boy. 

‘T<^neel down,” said Murrell. 

The command was instantly obeyed. The 
robber then drew forth a formidable bowie-knife. 
Bertram noticed that the boy suddenly thrust 
his hand in his pocket, and with his cold-looking 
eyes gazed searchingly into Murrell’s face. The 
robber then put one hand on the top of Rommie’s 
head, and placed the edge of the ugly knife 
against his throat. He stood in this position for 
a moment while Bertram was looking earnestly 
into the lad’s face. But Rommie did not flinch 
nor betray any emotion. The two men, however, 
thought they heard the click of a pistol. Mur- 
rell broke the silence by administering a most 
horrible oath, explaining it as he went, so that the 
lad c<7uld understand . it clearly. Among other 
things he bound him to obey every order of Her- 


28 o 


FIERY TRIALS. 


tram without the least hesitation. Rommie never 
faltered at any stage of the ceremony. When it 
was completed Bertram said with a smile : 

‘T declare, Rommie, you are a brick. I have 
seen men tremble while taking that oath.” 

^‘He’ll do,” said Murrell ; ^‘but how did you 
know, Rommie, but that I would cut your throat?” 

^T did’nt know,” said Rommie, ^Svhat you 
wanted to cut my throat for. But if you had a 
tried it, I had my hand on my pistol, and I 
would a shot you.” 

At this Murrell laughed. 

‘AVhy, my hoy,” he said, could have cut 
your head from your shoulders before you could 
have crooked your finger. Let me see your pis- 
tol.” 

Rommie drew from his pocket a little rusty 
pistol, the sight of which made the two men 
laugh. 

^^Why, Rommie,” said Murrell, ‘^at twenty 
steps off you might shoot at me all day with such 
a pop-gun as that.” 

Rommie seemed to be a little indignant at this 
ridicule of his cherished weapon ; and before the 
men were aware of his intentions he quickly lev- 
eled his arm and fired at a sapling about twenty 
paces distant, on which the ball made a white 
spot. 

^‘Spose,” said Rommie with an air of triumph, 
^^you d bin standing whar that tree is.” 

^T give it up,” said Murrell. ‘^But Mr. Ber- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


281 


tram, he must have a better pistol than that.” 

•‘Yes, he shall have a new one.” 

“You’re a brave boy,” said Murrell. “You 
will never be in any danger from any of the clan 
as long as you’re faithful.” 

Rommie was then put in possession of the signs 
and pass-words by which he could make himself 
known to any of the gang, and would also know 
them. After this the parties shook hands and 
separated. Murrell took the road leading toward 
Coffeeville ; and Bertram and Rommie turned 
their faces homeward. Late on Wednesday 
evening they reached Holly Springs. The boy 
went out home feeling that he was now a man. 
His foolish head was full of the exploits he in- 
tended to perform. 0, how a lad left to his own 
control can be misled ! Poor, foolish Rommie 
had taken the road to ruin! 


CHAPTER XVI. 

“God moves in a mysterious way, 

His wonders to perform, 

He plants His footsteps in the sea 
And rides upon the storm.” 

This is true ; and no visible trace of the Divine 
footstep is left. It is beyond the powers of the 


282 


FIERY TRIALS. 


human mind to explain the ways of providence. 
Faith is put to the severest test that it can bear. 
Often it staggers before the mountains of difficul- 
ties and mysteries that rise up and shut out the 
light of Eternity which alone can make them 
clear in all their bearings and relations. Some- 
times it would seem that the most precious 
promises of the Lord to his people are about to 
fail of fulfillment, or even have already failed ; 
and then we stand still in doubt and deep per- 
plexity. Then we have to fall back upon the 
general assurance, that no matter how obscure 
may be our spiritual vision, the Judge of all the 
earth will do right. It is no uncommon specta- 
cle to behold the Lord’s worst enemies revelling 
in the midst of affluence, and glutting themselves 
with the luxuries which the world affords ; and 
to behold at the same time His most faithful 
servants suffering for the very necessaries of life. 
The subject of Divine Providence has perplexed 
the good and the righteous in every age of the 
world. The question arises if a just and merci- 
ful God rules in human afiairs, why should the 
virtuous writhe and groan under a great burden 
of misfortunes ? Why does not the Lord inter- 
fere, and ward off heavy calamities from those 
who love Him and whom He loves ? All the 
way we can account for these things is the fact 
that this life is but a state of probation. The 
road to the better land generally leads through 
tribulation. To some that road is more thorny 


FIERY TRIALS. 283 

than to others. Why, Ave know not. Indeed we 
now “see through a glass darkly.” 

Junie Paine, for some good reason, bad to be 
put to the test. Here she was a young ladv, 
not yet twenty years of age, suddenly thrown 
upon her own resources, having scarcely a penny 
to begin the battle of life. Add to this the fact 
that she had no experience. Up to this time she 
had never known the value of money. She was 
now an outcast from a home under whose roof 
she had hardly a conception of want. She knew 
not what it was to have an ungratified desire. 
But now all was different. The thought of her 
father’s anger was chilling to her heart. It is 
not to be wondered at then that the young lady 
sometimes Avent off to a secret place, and gave 
vent to her troubles in tears. But yet, Junie 
Avas determined not to make a retrograde move- 
ment. She had set her face Zion-Avard, and 
having once put her hand to the plow, she had 
no thought of looking back. Dr. Archer felt a 
deep sympathy for her in this time of trial and 
did all he could to encourage and comfort her. 
He fully realized the difficulties of her situation. 
He thought he could see at least a remote end to 
her troubles in a marriage Avith John Milson Avith 
Avhom he Avas Avell acquainted, and Avhose noble 
traits of character he fully appreciated. The 
Doctor honestly believed that these tAvo would 
be happy as husband and wife. Though he had 
seen the young people together; yet he kneAV 


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284 

not that any relation existed between them, but 
that of friendship. The Doctor was too dignified 
to be a match-maker, and had no idea of becom- 
ing one. But the thought just occurred to him 
that night when Milson called at his house for 
the sole purpose of seeing Miss Junie, that if a 
marriage could take place between them it would 
be a ^^consummation to be devoutly wished” — it 
would be quite a happy solution of a perplexing 
problem. But the Doctor did not dare to hint 
at such a solution to Miss Junie. So he must 
leave events to their own development, unless 
the young lady herself should take him into her 
confidence, and enlighten him as to the true state 
of affairs. But the young lady soon blasted his 
hopes of any immediate solution of her difficulties 
in the way the good Doctor thought would glad- 
den two hearts. 

On Monday many of the kind Christians of 
Holly Springs offered Junie a home when they 
were informed of the sacrifice she had made to 
join the church. But she had too much pride to 
eat the bread of dependence. She resolved to 
gain her own support. So that very day she 
told Dr. Archer that she intended to take a 
school if she could secure one. She could think 
of nothing else that she could do. The preacher 
informed her of a vacant school a few miles in 
the country which he had no doubt could be 
obtained for her, as he himself had been requested 
by some of the citizens to recommend a teacher. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


285 

lie would see some of them on Thursday, if she 
could make up her mind to take a school in the 
country. 

‘^Certainly,” said Junie. will be glad of the 
opportunity to do anything by which I can make 
an honest living.” 

‘^But, my child, I fear you will be disappoint- 
ed. You have never kept school and you know 
nothing of the difficulties you will have to en- 
counter. The people in that neighborhood are 
very kind, but they are poor. You will not find 
the kind of society to which you have been ac- 
customed, and you will have to change your 
mode of life and adapt yourself to the people. I 
am afraid you will be discouraged. But then 
you must keep up a brave heart till there is 
something better offered. You will have to com- 
mence at the bottom of the ladder and work your 
way up. If you show your ability to manage a 
school it will not be a great while before you can 
find a more desirable situation.” 

^‘All I ask,” said Miss Junie, ‘'is an opportun- 
ity. I am willing to take a very humble position 
to begin with.” 

“1 have no fear that one of your determination 
and energy will not succeed. But I do not want 
you to undertake this business without a due 
consideration of the difficulties which will present 
themselves.” 

“1 think I am prepared for them,’’ modestly 
replied Junie. 


286 


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^‘Very well then. We will have only to wait till 
Thursday, and then I hope the matter can be defi- 
nitely settled, and to your satisfaction.” 

So nothing more was said on the subject at 
that time. 

Thursday soon came. On that day while Dr. 
Archer was in town making arrangements in re- 
gard to the school. Col. Paine’s carriage drove up 
to the preacher’s residence. Miss Gerie emerged 
from it, and went into the house and called for 
Miss Junie Paine. That young lady at once re- 
sponded to the summons, and the two sisters met 
in the parlor. Junie could not keep back her 
tears; but Gerie was calm and self-possessed. 

^AVhat are you doing here, Junie?” asked Ge- 
rie as soon as she had taken a seat. ^^Have you 
made this your home?” 

^^Only for the present.” 

‘‘Well, I’ve come for you ; and I want you to 
go right straight home. I’m getting tired of this 
nonsense.” 

^‘Qn what condition may I go ?” 

^‘You know the condition, Junie. Father told 
you explicitly. Y'^ou will have to quit that hor- 
rid old church, and go back home and behave 
yourself. Now you understand.” 

“I. can never quit the church,” said Junie with 
sadness. will suffer anything before I will do 
that. My mind is fully made up,” 

^‘eTunie, have you lost all your senses ? Are 
you really going to desert home for that misera- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


287 

ble church? How cwl where will you live? 
Are you going to take up quarters with this poor 
preacher who has inveigled you into his church?” 

^Hle did no such thing,” said Junie in a mild, 
hut firm tone. ^‘Every step has been taken of 
my own free will, and after mature reflection. 
Y'ou cannot throw the responsibility of my acts 
upon Dr. Archer. If any one is to blame in the 
matter it is myself.” 

^‘Well, that is neither here nor there. What 
are you going to do?” 

expect,” said Junie with deliberation in an- 
ticipation of the astonishment which the announce- 
ment would cause, ^To go into the country in a 
few days and take a school, if I can get the situa- 
tion.” 

On hearing this Miss Gerie sprang from her 
seat, and held up her hands in horror. 

^^0, Junie, Junie, has it come to this ? You 
keep a little country school ! Did ever I hear 
the like ! You shall do no such thing. You will 
bring disgrace upon our family. Why the very 
idea of my sister going out into the hills and hol- 
lows to keep an insignificant school ! — it is shock- 
ing — it is an outrage. I wont stand it.” 

^^But what am I to do ?” asked Junie. will 
not be a burden upon any of my friends. Num- 
bers of them have offered me a home ; but I 
prefer to make my own living. I am not going 
to put myself in the attitude of a beggar.” 

^^Junie, you shall not do it. I will make father 


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send for you and carry you back by force, before 
you shall thus disgrace yourself and us.” 

^‘Father will not do it,” replied Junie. ^‘‘He 
gave me my choice between leaving home and 
joining the church. I have chosen calmly and 
deliberately, and I have determined, come what 
may to go forward. I will do my duty or what 
I conceive to be my duty if it cost my life. So, 
sister, the matter is settled. You need not try 
to persuade me to return unless I can have per- 
mission to serve God as I desire.” 

^‘Serve God ! ” cried Gerie, her eyes flashing 
with anger. ‘‘Serve God ! I declare, Junie, you 
are the biggest simpleton I ever met with ! You 
have just gone stark mad. Going out to keep 
school and serve God.” 

And Miss Gerie paused for the want of suit- 
able words to express her astonishment, indigna- 
tion, and disgust. 

“You may ridicule as much as you please, 
sister,” said Junie meekly, “but I shall try to 
lead a Christian life.” 

“Well,” replied Gerie, “it is no use to talk to 
you. Once more I ask you will you go home or 
not ? ” 

“I will not,” said Junie, “except on the con- 
ditions which I have named.” 

“Well, it is no use to bandy words with you. 
Your trunk is at the gate. I will have it sent in, 
and then you can go where you please. But I 
do believe that you ought to be sent to the 


FIERY TRIALS. 289 

Lunatic Asylum. Fve a notion to go home and 
tell father you’re stark mad.” 

And Miss Gerie rose to go. 

^^0^ sister,” exclaimed Junie with tears in her 
eyes, ^^do not leave me in anger. Father has 
cast me off in anger ; I have no home, and now 
the thought that my only sister leaves me with 
such bitter feelings fills my heart with inexpress- 
ible grief.” 

‘Munie, you have brought all this on yourself,” 
said Gerie softening her tone. ^‘Father has not 
cast you off; but you have deserted your home. 
I can’t help being vexed at you for acting as you 
have done. I still love you, and I want you to 
go back; but you’ve said positively that you 
wont go. So I’ll just have to tell you good-by 
and leave.” 

^^Give me a sister’s kiss then,” said Junie, 
^‘and let us part good friends.” 

Accordingly they kissed and separated. The 
trunk was sent in, and Gerie went back home. 
Not long after her departure Dr. Archer returned 
to the house, and informed Junie that the ar- 
rangement was effected for her to take the school 
which was to be opened the following Monday. 

will go with you myself to-morrow,” said 
Dr. Archer, ^That 3 mu may form the acquaintance 
of at least some of your patrons before the school 
begins. Some of them are members of my 
church, and they will be warm friends.” 

Accordingly the next morning Dr. Archer and 


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290 

Junie got into a buggy and started to the scene 
of her labors. After a while they halted at a 
very plain farm-house which the Doctor informed 
her was to he her hoarding place, 

‘^The people/' he said, ^‘are not wealthy, but 
they are pious, which is better ; and they know 
your history, and are prepared to sympathize 
with you. Besides they come to town nearly 
every Sabbath to church, and I have arranged 
for you to come with them, supposing that you 
Avould like to attend divine service.” 

Junie with tears starting to her eyes thanked 
the Doctor for his kindness in taking so much in- 
terest in her welfare. The preacher after intro- 
ducing her to the family, spoke some encouraging 
words, prayed with her that God would sustain 
her in the midst of the trials Avhich she must 
soon encounter took his leave. 

And now here was Miss Junie Paine among 
strangers. Everything appeared so odd to her, 
accustomed as she was to all the conveniences 
and comforts that wealth could procure. The 
house was constructed of hewed and huge logs. 
There was no carpets on the floors except in one 
chamber which was called the ^^company room,” 
and this carpet was home-made. All the furni- 
ture was of the very plainest style. 

When Junie cast her eye upon the plain look- 
ing-glass in which there was an unsightly rent 
that made it necessary to view one’s self by 
piece-meal, and which hung on a nail over the 


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291 

washstand, a mournful smile played over her 
features as she contrasted it with the magnifi- 
cent mirror before tvhich she had stood at home, 
while she adjusted the ornaments of dress. In 
one corner of the room a small pole reached from 
the two adjacent sides of the building, from 
which pole a calico curtain was suspended ; and 
this little triangular department was the ward- 
robe. All these internal arrangements, so differ- 
ent from what Junie had been accustomed to, at 
home, were sadly amusing. But she was deter- 
mined not to yield to discouragements. She 
must now adapt herself to her changed position. 

On Saturday a number of the patrons of the 
school called to see the ^^new teacher.” Junie 
went through this ordeal bravely. Some few 
went off shaking their heads wisely, and predict- 
ing a failure for the school under the management 
of this ^^young thing;” but most were pleased 
with the new teacher’s ^^manners,” which she 
was expected to communicate to the children by 
precept as well as example. 

So Saturday passed off rather pleasantly for 
the new teacher ; and the thought occasioned a 
small degree of complacency that in this first 
day’s experience she had succeeded very "well 
in adapting herself to the situation. 

Monday morning dawned, and Junie went early 
to the school-house which was situated not more 
than two hundred yards from where she boarded. 
It was also a plain log building such as was com- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


292 

mon to the country at that time. The floor was 
made of puncheons ; and so were the seats — 
elevated by means of rude legs scarcely any two 
of which were in the same geometrical plane. 
But Junie, occupying the position of teacher, 
had a chair, and in front of it an humble table. 
And here in this rude structure, and in the midst 
of these inelegant surroundings she was to ^Teach 
the young idea how to shoot.” She felt awkward 
in this strange position ; but then she went to 
work with a will. When the new teacher had 
gotten everything arranged as well as she could, 
the little fellows began to come in from all direc- 
tions Avith buckets and baskets and sachels till 
some twenty-five or thirty of both sexes had 
arrived and taken their seats. Then Junie took 
down their names and arranged them into classes 
as well as the variety of books would allow. It 
was fortunate for her that Webster’s Spelling 
Book was then in universal use. Each one of 
Junie’s pupils possessed one of these blue-backed 
books beginning at the very foundation of litera- 
ture, and gradually leading the little learner along 
through the mysteries of orthography till he could 
read in a whining tone about the milkmaid whose 
head was so full of A^ain imaginings that doAvn fell 
the pail, and Avith it all her high hopes. 

We Avill not tax our reader’s patience Avith any 
long account of the neAV teacher’s trouble, Avhich 
may be easily imagined. She toiled on day after 
day endeavoring to discharge the duties Avhich 


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293 

the situation imposed upon her. She soon won 
the confidence of her little pupils ; and in a little 
time they were most ardently attached to the 
new teacher. For the first few days Junie felt 
embarrassed in her novel situation. Sometimes, 
in spite of all she could do the tears would roll 
down her cheeks in the school-room ; and then 
the little ones would look at her in sorrowful 
surprise. The innocent things had no idea what 
this crying meant. But in a short time she over- 
came this amiable weakness, which can be ex- 
cused under the circumstances, and things went 
on smoothly enough. She became interested in 
the progress of her little students that did their 
best to accomplish the tasks which she assigned 
them. So she soon mastered the difficulties that 
are common to the tyro in any vocation. But it 
was not long before the young lady encountered 
another source of trouble from an unexpected 
quarter; and this difficulty grew out of her re- 
ligious experience. 

God tries his people in various ways. For some 
wise purpose he permits sorrow to come upon 
them. Frequently He suffers doubts of a most 
distressing character to arise in their minds. 
Junie was now to fall into the hands of Giant 
Despair and become a prisoner in Doubting Cas- 
tle. One night as she was reading the Bible the 
thought suddenly flashed into her mind that 
probably the whole thing might be a mere fable. 
She closed the book, and laid it aside. Hs it 


294 


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possible/’ she thought to herself, ^That I am 
mistaken ? What if religion is all a delusion ? 
What if this Bible is only the production of un- 
inspired men — disigning hypocrites ? My father 
is an intelligent man, and he has studied this 
subject, and he has arrived at the conclusion that 
there is no God. Suppose he is right. Then 
what a simpleton I am. I have deserted my 
home where I had everything that money could 
afford — where I was loved by a kind father and 
sister ; and here I am an outcast from the home 
of my childhood, hated by my dearest relatives — 
here I am employing my energies in teaching lit- 
tle country fellows how to spell and read. What 
an awful sacrifice I have made. Why did I act 
so hastily ? But I thought I was thoroughly 
satisfied, and I know I did feel in my very soul 
that I was reconciled to God. I did not have a 
doubt. Suppose father is correct in his opinions. 
But then Dr. Archer is also an intelligent man — 
just as learned as father; and he seems to be- 
lieve the Bible with all his heart. Is it possible 
that he and all other ministers are hypocrites ? 
Dr. Archer cannot be a hypocrite. He has 
nothing to gain by playing such a disgraceful 
part, and he has everyting to lose. He has given 
up a lucrative profession, in which he could have 
risen to the highest eminence. No hypocrite 
would do such a thing. Now is it possible that 
he too is mistaken? He does not appear to have 
a single doubt. No, he is not deceived. This 


FIERY TRIALS. 


295 

book is the true Word of God. The fault is in 
me. I have been mistaken in my own feelings. 
I have no religion — that is what is the matter. 
If I were a true child of God I could never have 
these doubts that are so dishonoring to the 
Saviour. I am acting the hypocrite myself I 
have joined the church ; and yet I am nothing 
but a vile sinner, I have been deceiving myself, 
and I am deceiving other people by pretending to 
be what I am not.” 

As such thoughts as these rushed through 
Miss Junie’s mind, she clasped and wrung her 
hands in agony of soul. The suffering which she 
underwent is indescribable. A burden was upon 
her whose weight seemed to be crushing her soul. 
Hope seemed to have winged its flight forever 
away, leaving her under clouds of doubt and 
darkness. Those alone can understand her con- 
dition who have themselves wallowed in the 
Slough of Despond, and writhed under the seem- 
ing frowns of an offended God — who can say in 
the language of a poet : 

“I run the gauntlet of a file of doubts, 

Each one of which down hurls me to the ground.” 

Miss Junie’s face was clouded; she became 
gloomy. For several days and nights she seemed 
to be in the deepest distress. She had little to 
say to any one. The family with whom she was 
staying su^^posed she was thinking of the elegant 
home which she had left ; and some of them al- 
luded to it in a delicate way in order, if possible 


FIERY TRIALS. 


296 

to draw her out on the subject. But from the 
manner in which she answered, they soon came 
to the conclusion that her trouble sprang from 
some other source. 

Junie could endure it no longer. She must 
find some one to whom she could unbosom her- 
self. She was now in such a state of mind that 
she had almost given up her private devotions. 
She appeared to think that God had cast her off, 
and it was no use to pray. At last a gleam of 
light came from an unexpected source. 

There was an old lady, a member of the house- 
hold, who had reached her threescore and ten — 
a deeply pious woman — a venerable mother in 
Israel, whose white locks and wrinkled face, and 
trembling limbs made it evident that she was on 
the borders of the Promised Land' 

While the new teacher was in her state of 
darkness, the old lady requested her to read a 
chapter in the Bible every night to her. To 
this Junie cheerfully consented. The first night 
she read, she did it so correctly and with such 
proper emphasis, that the words of Holy Writ 
seemed te be invested with a new charm and new 
force. The girl’s sweet, melodious voice, in con- 
nection with her subdued manner, as the promises 
of the Lord came forth from her pretty lips, al- 
most instinct with life itself, sounded in the old 
lady’s ears like the soft tones of an angel’s harp. 
She had never heard such reading; and she 
could not prevent the ^‘crystal drop” from making 


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297 

a moistened track adown her cheek on which 
time had impressed his unmistakable seal. 

The second night that Junie began to read^ her 
eye accidentally as it were fell upon the chapter 
which commences, ^^Him that is weak in faith, 
receive ye, but not to doubtful disputations.’’ 
These* words she read aloud, and then paused as 
if reflecting. 

^‘Yes, weak in faith,” said the old lady. “The 
faith of Christians sometimes gets to be mighty 
weak — so weak that it’s real distressin.” 

At once the thought flashed into Junie’s mind 
that this very old woman, notwithstanding her 
want of education, might throw light on the sub- 
ject which was such a source of perplexity. Why 
should not this pious mother know as much about 
Christian experience as Dr. Archer with all his 
learning. God intended the Bible for the igno- 
rant as well as the wise, “God hath chosen the 
weak things of the world to confound the wise.” 
Why not then talk with good “Grandma Jones” 
in regard to her trouble ? 

“Grandma,” asked Junie, “how long have you 
been a Christian ? ” 

“Why child,” she slowly said, “more’n fifty 
years. I professed religion before I was as old 
as you.” 

“Did you ever have any doubts about your re- 
ligion — that is did you ever doubt whether you 
had any or not ? ” 

“Yes, many and many a time. I sometimes 


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298 

has doubts now, but not as often as I did when 
I was younger. As my sight fails I somehow \ 
can see more clearer them ^delectable mountains ' 
that we read about in Pilgrims • Progress. But 
many a time I’ve come to the conclusion that the 
good Lord could not save sich a sinner as I was.” 

^‘What caused you to think so ? ” ‘ I 

‘^Well, somehow my faith got weak. It’s my ' 
opinion that old Satan tempts people and puts 1 
bad thoughts into their beads ; and you’re mighty 
fortunate, child, if you’ve not got to doubtin’ 
yourself.” 

^•Well, grandma, to tell you the truth, for the 
last few days I have been in an awful condition. 

It seems to me sometimes that the Bible itself is 
nothing but an idle story ; and then you have no 
idea what anguish of soul I do suffer.” 

*^0,yes I do, child. Your experience is jest like 
mine and all other Christians. These is nothin’ 
but the temptations of old Satan which all Chris- 
tians have to contend with. I’ve talked with 
many a Christian about this very thing for my 
own satisfaction, and I’ve never yet met one but 
what had doubts in one way or ’nother. Even 
Dr. Archer, and a truer Christian never breathed 
the breath ov life, don’t escape the fiery darts ov 
the Evdl One ; he told me so his self.” 

^^And does Dr. Archer say,” asked Junie, 
^That he has doubts about his salvation ?” 

^‘Yes. To be shore he does ; at least he did ; 
I’ve not talked with him in a good while on the 


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299 

subject ; but he has told me that sometimes he 
has felt as if he’d be lost. lie feared that he was 
a deceivin’ his self. And why shouldn’t he? 
He’s nothin’ but a frail mortal like me an’ you. 
Even Paul had his ups and downs ; and so does 
every Christian. Don’t you read in the good 
book how the Lord chastises his children ? So, 
child, you mustn’t give up, and sink into de- 
spair because you sometimes fall into temptation.” 

^^But, grandma, how do you get rid of these 
awful feelings and doubts ?” 

“There’s but one way that I knows of,” slowly 
replied the old lady, “and that is by earnest 
prayer. Hut pra’ps you may never git rid of ’em 
entirely. You’ll have your bright days and 
dark days. This is the way God tries hisjDeo- 
ple. Some has doubts of one kind, and some of 
a’nother. But no matter what kind they is, you 
must go to the blessed Saviour in prayer ; and if 
you don’t always come into the light you’ll re- 
ceive sufficient grace to sustain you, and you can 
bear your temptation. Our Lord casts off none 
that come to ’im. The verse that you’ve jest 
read says ‘him that is weak in faith, receive ye.’ 
Your faith child, may often become mighty weak, 
yes mighty weak; but don’t give up: jest keep 
on prayin’, and you’ll finally come off more’n 
conqueror.” 

Junie soon discovered that this sensible old 
woman who had never studied the abstruse 
sciences and knew nothing of the mysteries of 


FIERY TRIALS. 


300 

Latin and Greek, nevertheless understood the 
science of religion, and could give her instruction 
in regard to the most difficult phases of Chris- 
tian experience. There was no necessfty there- 
fore of going to Dr. Archer with her trouble. 

After this time Junie’s path ran along under 
brighter skies. When she fell into religious per- 
plexities she would go straight to ^^Grandma 
Jones,” and she was always sure to receive com- 
fort. The old lady soon got to be J unie’s dearest 
friend. At night the young teacher would read 
the Bible, and they would talk for hours upon 
religious topics. 

So Junie’s life was not unpleasant. She got 
to feeling that her spiritual enjoyments fully 
compensated for all the sacrifices she had made. 
She was happier in the true sense of the Avord, 
than when she was at home, doing nothing but 
seeking her own pleasure. The change in her 
condition had produced broader views of life and 
human destiny. She was busy all day, so that 
she enjoyed rest at night ; and thus the hours 
flew quickly by. Junie could say with one of 
her own sex : 

“ Oh ! never chide the wing of time, 

Or say ’tis tardy in its flight ; 

You’ll find the days speed quick enough, 

If you but husband them aright.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


30 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Several weeks had now passed away. Junie 
had succeeded in rendering herself very popular 
in the neighborhood where she was teaching. 
The little students dearly loved their new 
teacher; and every morning they tried to glad- 
den her heart by offering her such fruits and 
flowers as the season would afford. So she found 
no difficulty in managing her school. It was a 
great source of pleasure to her to notice the rapid 
development of her students. It made the 
young lady feel that her life, even in this 
humble sphere was not in vain. She sometimes 
consoled herself with the reflection that her in- 
fluence might be felt after she had gone to the 
grave — and like Abel being dead, yet she would 
speak. She might now be molding the character 
of some future President of the United States. 
Or may be, as the poet has it, when she looked 
over the school, she saw 

“A little bench of heedless bishops here, 

And there a chancellor in embryo, 

Or bard sublime, if bard may e’er be so. 

As Milton, Shakspeare, names that ne’er shall die.” 

Miss Junie experienced pleasure in such secret 


FIERY TRIALS. 


302 

reflections as these. But we must now hasten 
on to events of perhaps a more interesting char- 
acter. 

One bright morning about ten o’clock a solitary 
horseman was seen advancing .along the main 
road/ that led from Holly Springs to the Talla- 
hatchie river. 

The little log school-house in which Junie 
taught the ^^young idea how to shoot,” Avas 
situated not far from this road. Our horseman 
turned aside, and had nearly reached the door of 
the unpretending structure, Avhen the teacher 
announced ^Tecess,” — a musical word to school 
children. No sooner had the welcome word 
escaped the teacher’s lips than the little ones 
began to rush out pell-mell, almost tumbling over 
each other, and screaming in the gladness of 
their hearts at the thought of enjoying a few 
moments’ respite from their intellectual labors. 
AVho cannot remember these happy days of inno- 
cent childhood ? It is true, as a poet hath said 
that ^-heaven lies about us in our infancy.” When 
we reflect upon the guilelessness of youthful days, 
Ave need not Avonder at our SaAuour’s declaration 
in regard to children that ^‘of such is the king- 
dom of heaven.” 

But the little ones of Junie’s school had no 
idea Avhat mischief their sudden rush and gleeful 
boisterousness Avould occasion. They did not 
knoAv of the approach of the horseman, Avho had 
dropped the reins of his bridle on the animal’s 


FIERY TRIALS. 


303 

neck; and was in the act of dismounting. The 
horse, frightened at this violent outbreak, made 
a sudden spring, and the rider was forcibly pre- 
cipitated against a tree, and lay stretched at full 
length upon the ground. Some of the children 
at once ran back into the house, with staring 
eyes and with pale faces exclaiming : 

^^0, Miss J unie, man killed, horse throwed him 
— he’s killed ! ” 

Junie on hearing this startling announcement, 
rose from her seat and hastened to the scene of 
the disaster. A deathly palor spread over her 
face. No doubt she would have been thrown 
into a state of great perturbation if the fallen 
man had been an entire stranger. But the sight 
which she beheld made the world appear to 
reel for a moment. It was no stranger. Before 
her was the prostrate, and bloody form of John 
Milson. The young lady grew sick. In this 
awful moment the situation revealed to Miss 
Junie herself the depth of her affection for the 
young man, apparently dead. She had frequent- 
ly thought of him, it is true ; but only, as she 
persuaded herself, as of a dear friend. But now 
she could not blind herself to the fact that her 
sentiment toward him was much deeper and 
warmer than friendship. Her first impulse was 
to give way to a violent paroxysm of the grief 
which had produced a suffocating sensation. But 
this was no time for the exhibition of weakness. 
Perhaps he might not be dead. So nerving her- 


304 


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self she bent over the prostrate form and felt the 
pulse. To her great joy it indicated signs of life. 
At once she said to some of the children : 

^^R-un to the house, and tell Mr. Jones to come 
quick.” 

They obeyed. Then she brought out the 
bucket of water, and bathed the fallen man’s 
face. She now hoped that it was only a temporary 
unconsciousness, and the hope caused a flood of 
strange emotions to roll through her heart which 
was throbbing fast and wildly. The innocent 
young lady did not know herself. 

Soon Mr. Jones, with whose family she was 
boarding, made his appearance ; and the teacher 
cried out with an energy of which she was not 
aware : 

^^0, Mr. Jones, will he die ? ” 

^^Let me see. Miss Junie.” 

He then examined Milson as well as he could 
to the full extent of his surgical knowledge. 

don’t know whether he will die or not. He’s 
mighty badly hurt. But he must be moved from 
here.” 

‘^0, Mr. Jones, do all you can for him — spare 
no expense.” 

^Ts it somebody you know ? ” 

^Tes, sir; it is Mr. John Milson ; I have known 
him for years. He lives in Holly Springs.” 

‘^Why, yes, I remember him now myself. But 
we’ve no time to lose. I’ll send for the Doctor 
at once.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 305 

Mr. Jones then went hack to the house and 
procured some assistance ; and a rude litter was 
hastily constructed, and on this Milson was 
borne to the house. His breathing was now per- 
ceptible. In the course of an hour the family 
physician of Mr. Jones arrived, and at once he 
began to discharge the duties of his profession. 
He examined his patient carefully, and then said : 

^‘There are no bones broken ; but his internal 
injuries are severe.'’ Then he began to apply 
the proper remedies. 

Junie went back to the school-room, and hast- 
ened through the lessons as rapidly as she could. 
It was twelve o’clock when she returned to the 
house. She went up to the bed-side, and stood 
for a moment gazing into his pale face, and then 
let fall the tears she could not repress. Suddenly 
Milson opened his eyes. For a moment he ap- 
peared to be bewildered. Then in a feeble voice 
he said : 

^Munie.” 

The teacher could not but notice the tender- 
ness with which he pronounced her name. He 
had even dropped the prefix of ^‘Miss.” Not- 
withstanding the distressing situation Junie ob- 
served these little things which to her had 
considerable significance. There is no telling 
what would have been the result of this incipient 
tete-a-tete, if the Doctor had not deemed it his 
duty to interfere. It was fortunate for the young 
lady that he did so ; for she was becoming some- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


306 

what embarrassed. The physician quickly said : 

^‘You are wounded ; you must not talk ; you 
must be perfectly quiet.” 

Junie left the room while the physician ad- 
ministered a dose of medicine. In a little time 
the patient fell into a deep sleep. 

That evening the school was dismissed earlier 
than usual ; and when the teacher returned to 
the house the physician informed her that the 
patient was doing very well, though he could not 
tell what would yet be the result. 

^^Doctor,” she said, ^^you must not leave him 
to-night if he is in any danger.” Then she con- 
tinued as if by way of explanation, ^^it is a friend 
of our family j and I must see to it that he has 
proper attention.” 

^‘Yes, I understand,” replied the Doctor, look- 
ing at her so searchingly that Junie turned her 
head, ^‘but there is no immediate danger. Y^ou 
may rest assured that I will not neglect the young 
man. I must leave now ; but I will return about 
midnight. If he wakes up before then, I have 
left instructions with Mr. Jones what to do.” 
Accordingly the physician took his leave. 

From the searching look the Doctor gave her, 
Junie saw that he had put a construction upon 
her words Avhich she by no means intended. She 
felt vexed. Then the young lady tried to recover 
from her former status, that is in her own mind, 
by attempting to persuade herself that the inter- 
est she took in the present case grew out of 


FIERY TRIALS. 


307 


friendship. Mr. Milson was her friend, and that 
was all. The Doctor had no right to give her 
such a searching look, when she was acting only 
as a friend. But she thought any attempt to 
remove his suspicions in regard to the relation, 
which he evidently supposed to subsist between 
herself and the wounded man, would only con- 
firm him in his opinion. So Junie turned her 
head, and secretly bit her cherry lip, wishing 
that she had hot spoken so hastily ; and yet al- 
lowing the Doctor to go off thinking just as he 
pleased about the matter. 

But Miss Junie determined to do her duty to- 
ward her friend in spite of people’s thoughts. 
So, after supper she told Mr. Jones that she 
would watch the patient at least till the Doctor 
returned ; and that he could retire to rest if he 
wished. 

^T am afraid. Miss Junie,” said Mr. Jones, ^dt 
will be too much for you to sit up so late, and 
then have to teach school to-morrow.” 

‘^Never mind that,” replied the young lady, 
will not become sleepy till midnight, and even 
for some time after. I can stand it better than 
you can, Mr. Jones. Besides — ” 

There was a pause. Mr. Jones had no idea 
what the teacher intended to say. But Junie 
suddenly came to the conclusion that it was use- 
less to make any more remarks on the subject of 
friendship. The young man was quite sick and 
required nursing. Why then make any apology? 


FIERY TRIALS. 


308 

It was this process of ratiocination, that required 
only an instant for its full development in the 
young teacher’s mind, which resulted in such an 
abrupt pause. 

If Mr. Jones had any suspicions he kept them 
to himself. He offered no objection to the pro- 
posed arrangement, and left Junie and grandma 
Jones who said that she ^Vlidn’t mind settin’ up 
at all,” as nurses. Milson was still in a heavy 
sleep. After the}’ had been in the room for an 
hour or so grandma Jones began to ask Miss 
Junie some questions in regard to the sufferer 
who seemed to be an object of such deep interest 
to her. 

^^You seem to be acquainted with this young 
man ?” she asked in a low tone. 

‘‘Yes, grandma, I have known him for a long 
time.” 

“Well,” said the good old lady slowly and 
thoughtfully, “it’s jest struck me that he was a 
cornin’ here to see you.” 

“You have no right to make any such supposi- 
tion, grandma.” 

“Now come, Junie,” she said bluntly, but 
pleasantly, “aint that young man a sweetheart 0’ 
yourn?” 

“Hush, grandma,” she said looking toward the 
sleeper, “he might hear you.” 

“No danger 0’ that, child; he’s dead asleep.” 

“Well, then, grandma, you are very much 
mistaken if you suppose he is anything more to 


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309 


me than a friend. I do not mind telling you, but 
you must not say anything about it, — he thinks 
a great deal of my sister, and of course I regard 
him as a friend.” 

But grandma Jones had no small amount of 
innocent curiosity in connection with her deep 
and solid piety. There could be no harm in grati- 
fying her curiosity, and she resolved to probe 
the matter to the bottom. She felt a consider- 
able degree of interest in Junie’s welfare anyhow. 
So the good old lady replied : 

^‘Yes, certainly, if that’s the case. Are they 
engaged to be married ? ” 

cannot say, grandma, for I really do not 
know.” 

^Tf you don’t know for certain, I tell you I 
don’t believe it. That young man was a huntin’ 
you up, now shore. I was once young myself, 
and I know somethin’ about the ways of young 
people. What was he a doin’ at the school-house 
if he didn’t come to see you?” 

suppose he did call by to see me,” said 
Junie. ^‘My opinion is that he was merely pass- 
ing by, and knowing that I was teaching he 
stopped to speak to me — that was all.” 

It was far from Miss Junie’ s intention to tell 
anything but the truth even in regard to so deli- 
cate a matter. She knew that Milson had ad- 
dressed her sister ; though his conduct since bad 
been a little strange. Under the circumstances 
she made a supposition which was in harmony 


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with at least the upper current of past events. 
This supposition seemed reasonable to herself, 
and in making it she did not think she had done 
violence to the truth. Her innate modesty would 
not permit her to think that calling to see her 
was the sole object of MilsoiTs visit. . 

But this plausible supposition was not alto- 
gether satisfactory to grandma Jones. 

^^Well, meb be so,” she said, ^^but I have my 
notion about it.” 

And ^‘grandma’s” notion was that any sensible 
young man would prefer Junie to her sister. 
She had never seen Miss Gerie ; but Junie had 
informed her that Gerie was an infidel ; and the 
sensible old lady could hardly conceive it to be 
possible that any one with good common sense, 
would prefer an infidel to such a lovely Christian 
as Junie. If she had ever beheld Gerie’s daz- 
zling beauty, probably her notion might have 
been slightly modified. But grandma was look- 
ing only to the qualities of mind and heart which 
she thought a wife ought to have. So she could 
not bring herself to believe that it was possible 
for the young man who lay before them, to prefer 
infidel Gerie to Christian Junie. 

The physician arrived about midnight accord- 
ing to promise, and on examining his patient 
discovered that the symptoms were rather un- 
favorable. So he and Mr. Jones sat up the re- 
mainder of the night. Next day Milson had a 
high fever, and he \vas incapable of conversing. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


311 

But we will not fatigue our reader with all the 
details of his sickness. It was several days 
before he was pronounced out of danger. During 
all this time Junie was at his bed-side all the 
hours she could spare from the school-room. For 
several nights she and grandma Jones took their 
turn as nurses. The neighbors kindly offered to 
take Junie’s place, but she insisted that it was 
her duty to watch, especially since the misfor- 
tune had been incurred on her account. 

But Milson began to improve ; yet he was con- 
fined to the house for some time. 

One morning as Junie was leaving for her 
school, grandma Jones said to Milson : 

^‘There goes one of the best girls I ever seen 
in my life ; but you’re well acquainted with her, 
I ’spose ? ” 

^Tes, madam, I have that honor.” 

^‘Well may you call it an honor. You owe her 
a mighty big debt, young man. She’s watched 
at your bed-side a part of every night you’ve bin 
sick, and then taught school next day. I was 
really afeard she would make herself sick a doin’ 
so much.” 

‘T am extremely sorry,” replied Milson, ^That 
I have been the innocent cause of so much trouble 
to this kind family and to her. I shall certainly 
try to discharge my obligations, though I can 
never hope to succeed; for pecuniary returns 
cannot repay those kind attentions bestowed by 
true friends.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


312 

makes not so much difference about the 
family; but dear Junie was the one that had the 
hardest task. I’m told that you are a friend of 
the family ? ” 

^‘Yes, madam.” 

^^Junie tells me,” continued the kind-hearted 
old lady, ^That her sister is an infidel as well as 
her father.” 

^^Yes, madam, I believe she is.” 

^^Believe ! ” said grandma. ^‘Why, don’t you 
know?” 

^^Well, madam,” said Milson, who did not 
relish this inquisition, ^^she did profess to be an 
infidel, even an Atheist ; but I really cannot say 
now what she is. It has been some time since I 
conversed with her on that subject— indeed, on 
any subject.” 

^‘You’ve not seen her lately then?” 

^‘No, madam.” 

^'Well,” said grandma, partly satisfied with the 
information which had thus been elicited, ‘^Junie 
is one of the most pious young Christians I’ve 
ever saw in my life. I dun know’ what sort of a 
man her father could be to turn the dear child 
out o’house an’ home and force her to make her 
own livin’. It must be mighty hard on her to 
give up sich a fine home as she had an’ come out 
to this poor neighborhood to teach school. But 
she never complains. I feel sorry for her an’ I 
hope the good Lord will open up some other w’ay 
for her.” Then after a short pause the old lady 


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313 


continued, looking straight in Milson’s face, ^^one 
thing 's certain she’ll make some man a mighty 
good wife.” 

At this Milson slightly winced, but he ^aid no- 
thing. The little wince, which might have been 
accidental, was all that she could draw from him 
in regard to the actual current of his sentiments. 

At length Milson had sufficiently recovered to 
return home. It was on Saturday he was to take 
his leave. That morning he requested Junie to 
take a short stroll to the school house. She con- 
sented; and when they had proceeded a little 
distance form the house Milson said, can never 
repay you. Miss Junie, for your kindness to me 
during my illness.” 

do not ask any compensation, Mr. Milson, 
I have done nothing more than my duty. One 
of the requirements of pure religion is to visit 
the sick.” 

“Yes; but I know I have put you to a great 
deal of inconvenience.” 

“Do not allude to it, Mr. Milson,” interrupted 
the young lady, “and do not, I beg you, consider 
yourself under any obligation to me.” 

“Well,” said Milson, speaking slowly, “I want 
to tell you why I happened to be here. I have 
been absent from home for several weeks. When 
I returned I inquired after you, and soon learned 
your history. At once I started to this place, 
and if the misfortune had not occurred which has 
fined me to the house so many days, I would 



314 


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have informed you before now that the sole object 
of my visit was to tell you that I have a warmer 
sentiment toward you than mere friendship. I 
love you with all the ardor of my soul.” 

On hearing this emphatic declaration Junie 
stopped suddenly and looked at Milson with some 
show of indignation. 

^‘Mr. Milson ! how can you say that when I 
have had sufficient evidence to convince me that 
your love has been bestowed elsewhere? You 
will not deny it.” 

‘‘Your sister has told you all then ?” 

‘T do not know that she has told me all ; but 
some time since I learned that you made a pro- 
posal to her — with what success I know not. 
How then can you address such language to me 
as you have just employed?” 

“Miss Junie^ listen to me. It certainly de- 
volves upon me to make an explanation. I am 
glad that your sister has given you the informa- 
tion of which you are in possession; for I have 
nothing to conceal or deny. You have used the 
word ‘deny’ 

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Milson/’ interrupted 
iviiss Junie, ‘T did not mean that you really 
would deny the truth. I have a better opinion 
of you than that.” 

“I am glad you have, Miss Junie. Well, what 
your sister told you is true.” 

“And if that is true, Mr. Milson, and my sis- 
ter has discarded you, do you suppose that I feel 


FIERY TRIALS. 


315 

highly complimented by such a rapid transfer of 
your affections ? Do you suppose” she continued 
straightening herself proudly up, ‘T would be any 
man’s second choice ?” 

The young lady had the advantage of the 
young man, for he had at first revealed the exis- 
tence of the tender sentiment in his breast; and 
she could therefore afford to talk in this proud 
manner. 

‘^But hear me. Miss Junie. Please let me ex- 
plain. I repeat that what your sister told you 
is true. I did blindly love her — at least I thought 
I did. But if you will excuse me for saying it, 
my eyes were not opened till Mr. Bertram began 
to pay his addresses to Miss Gerie. I was filled 
with jealousy and madness. I made a proposal 
to your sister which she did not decline ; but 
asked time to consider it. But the first Sabbath 
we went to church the light dawned into my 
mind. I began to see Miss Gerie in her true 
character. I do not say that she was pla^dng a 
part; but I failed to notice in my madness what 
I now regard as faults. I was looking only at 
the outside. It was her external beauty that 
had thrown such a spell over me. It was not 
long before I saw that Miss Gerie would not suit 
me. You may be disposed to think that I am in 
the condition of the fox that could not secure the 
grapes, and in vexation and disappointment pro- 
nounced them sour; but this is not my case. It 
is true that I plainly perceived that Miss Gerie 


FIERY TRIALS. 


316 

had concentrated her affections upon Mr. Bertram. 
But the knowledge of this fact was not the cause 
of the change of my sentiments toward her ; but 
it was the discovery of the fact that her traits 
of character ^were not what I desired in a wife. 
It was not long before the foolish dream of my 
boyhood >vas entirely broken and dissipated. I 
was, I confess, overwhelmed by her great phys- 
ical beauty. If Bertram had never formed her 
acquaintance, I believe my feelings would have 
changed, even if I had discovered that my feel- 
ings were reciprocated. I am glad that I was 
set free from the delusion so soon. If some 
months ago your sister had accepted my proposal 
and a marriage had been consummated I believe 
that to-day I would be a miserable man. Now"? 
Miss Junie, I have told you the truth. I love 
only you.” 

The young lady was silent for a moment. But 
she must make some reply. 

^^Mr. Milson,” she said half laughfully, ^‘your 
sentiments toward sister underw^ent such a sudden 
change, how do I know that the attachment 
which you now profess, is not a mere fancy, which 
will prove to be another idle dream ? ” 

acknowledge, said the young man, ^That 
you have some ground to suspect me of w"eak- 
ness. But I have studied your disposition and 
traits of character, and I love you for your noble 
qualities of mind and heart and not merely for 
your beauty.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


317 

am satisfied,” replied Miss Junie, ^Tliat it 
is not for my beauty. If it is I can inform you 
and warn you that you are laboring under a 
greater delusion than you Avere before.” 

^^And yet, notwithstanding the poor opinion 
you seem to haA^e of yourself, you appear more 
loA^ely and more beautiful in my eyes than your 
sister e\^er did. My affection for her AA^as simply 
a boyish fancy Avhich was soon dispelled by sober 
realities, and I am glad to say in time to save me 
from a life of Avretchedness. I mean no dis- 
respect to her; but Ave are not suited. And, 
now I have told you all. Will you send me 
aAvay in despair? If you refuse my suit I Avill 
be miserable.” 

Miss Junie had no experience in such affairs. 
Milson’s Avords accelerated the motions of her 
heart; but she AA’as confused and embarrassed. 
She. really did not know what reply it Avould be 
proper to make. She Avas satisfied that she had 
formed a true estimate of Milson’s character. 
She could not for a moment believe, especially 
under present circumstances, that he Avas merely 
trifling Avith her. He Avas too noble, she thought, 
to do this under any circumstances. There she 
Avas in thoughtful silence. 

^^Speak, Miss Junie ; tell me that you Avill be 
mine ; and I will take you from this place just 
as soon as you Avill go. It fills me Avith grief to 
see you in this position, Avhich I knoAV does not 
suit you.” 


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318 

‘T am not unhappy in my present situation, 
Mr. Milson. Besides, I have entered into a con- 
tract with these good people to teach their school 
for at least five months. I do not think I am at 
liberty to leave till my time expires.” 

^Tt will be easy enough to get some one else 
to fulfill your contract.” 

‘^But I do not think it right to put these kind 
people to that trouble. They are poor, but I like 
them, and 1 do not wish to disappoint them.” 

‘T will not persuade you,” said Milson, ^To do 
anything which is revolting to your sense of 
right. But I dislike to see you engaged in an 
employment which must be distasteful to one 
reared as you have been.” 

‘^My labors are not at all disagreeable,” inter- 
rupted Junie. feel that I am engaged in a 
useful work. This employment is much better 
than wasting my energies with the frivolities of 
fashionable society. My sphere of action is I 
own very restricted, but perhaps it is as wide as 
I am capable of filling at present. I am not dis- 
contented. The consciousness that I am not liv- 
ing in vain compensates somewhat for the trials 
and difficulties I have to encounter.” 

see,” said Milson smiling, ^That you are de- 
termined to have your way in this matter. May 
I dare to hope then at the expiration of your en- 
gagement with this people I can call you mine ?” 

^‘Mr. Milson,” she said modestly, will not 
conceal from you the fact that I have a very 


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319 


great respect and esteem for you. I think you 
are too noble and honorable to trifle with one in 
my present situation. I believe that you are sin- 
cere in the declaration you have made, and I 
feel highly flattered by the preference which you 
have expressed for me. But to tell you the 
truth/’ she continued with a blushing smile, 
^^you appear to be rather susceptible. I there- 
fore think that you would better not be entangled 
with an engagement till the expiration of my 
contract, which will not be very long.” 

deserve to be punished for my folly,” said 
Mil son, suppose I will have to prove my de- 
votion and fidelity to you. Well, I shall not 
complain. I suppose you would like to attend 
church every Sabbath. Will you grant me the 
privilege of seeing you to town and back to your 
field of labor? It will be a great pleasure to be 
with you every Sunday.” 

^^Then, Mr. Milson, you shall have that privi- 
lege, if such you think it.” 

So Milson could not get Miss Junie to be any 
more explicit in regard to the state of heLaffec- 
tions. While the interview did not result in what 
he had desired ; yet he could not but admire her 
good sense. He left her therefore with a higher 
appreciation of her worth than he had before. 

Miss Junie’s pathway seemed to be growing 
brighter. In her heart she really loved Milson 
with a far deeper regard and ardor than Gerie 
felt for Bertram. It was on a better foundation. 


320 


FIERY TRIALS. 


It was purer, broader, deeper. Junie believed 
that Milson had told the exact truth in regard to 
her sister. She believed that his love for her 
was fcxr more solid ; and the thought made her 
happy. 

Milson, according to promise, came out for her 
every Sunday. And so the weeks passed away, 
and not a shadow fell across Junie’s pathway. 
She became satisfied of Milson’ s stability, and at 
last consented to be his wife as soon as her con- 
tract expired. 

There was only one thing that gave her the 
least uneasiness. Milson was not yet a Chris- 
tian. He had promised to investigate the evi- 
dences of Christianity; but had put it otf under 
the pressure of other affairs. The change which 
was so apparent in Junie had impressed him more 
with a sense of the excellency of religion. It 
had somehow invested her with more loveliness, ^ 
and had brought to light qualities that otherwise 
would have been obscured. Milson fully intended 
to carry out his promise; but he was guilty of 
procrastination. Persons are sometimes awakened 
by awful dispensations of Providence. But we 
wilFnot anticipate. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


321 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

After Bertram had made all the necessary 
arrangements with Murrell for the accomplish- 
ment of his diabolical scheme, there was nothing 
to prevent his making a proposal of marriage to 
Miss Gerie Paine. This he did in a few days 
after his interview with the robber. Our reader 
no doubt anticipates the result of the suit. The 
young lady was so infatuated with the villainous, 
polygamous Bertram that he found no difficulty 
in inducing her to accept his proposal. The re- 
luctance which she exhibited was assumed for 
the purpose of concealing the infatuation, which 
the sense of ordinary modesty forbade her to 
manifest. In her heart she gave a glad consent. 
So as soon as could be all things were made ready 
for the marriage. It is needless to say that no 
invitation was sent to poor Junie, whose exist- 
ence was now ignored at home. 

One evening in the presence of a large party 
Bertram and Miss Gerie were made ^^one flesh’' 
by a civil officer. Col. Paine was too bitterly 
opposed to the church and all its institutions to 
allow a minister of the Gospel to enter his doors 
for the purpose of performing a marriage cere- 
mony. When Bertram consulted with Gerie in 
regard to the matter she said : 


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‘T would prefer to have Dr. Archer.’' 

“I thought/’ said Bertram in surprise, *'you 
did not like the preacher.” 

have no use for him,” she said, ^‘in that 
capacity, but we have to yield to fashion you 
know. All respectable people have Dr. Archer.” 

^^Of course,” said Bertram, ^^you can have 
your way about it. It makes no difference with 
me; but I think we would better consult with 
the Colonel.” 

This was accordingly done; but no sooner did 
Col. Paine understand the proposition than he 
almost flew into a rage. 

^^Dr. Archer,” he said, ^^shall never darken my 
doors, if I can help it.” 

^^But, father,” pleaded Gerie, ‘‘you know that 
all people who make the least pretentions to 
fashion have him to perform the ceremony.” 

This was one time in her life that Miss Gerie 
felt the need of a minister. 

“I do not care,” said Col. Paine, “you shall 
not have him.” 

“But I hate to be married,” said Gerie, almost 
crying, “by a common Magistrate.” 

“I am sure,” said Col. Paine, “that ’Squire 
Keems is a nice gentleman.” 

On hearing this Gerie was so provoked that 
she cried in the presence of her father and pros- 
pective husband. Bertram himself felt vexed at 
the Colonel’s obstinacy. He really wanted Gerie 
gratified in this particular. But he did not dare 


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323 

to argue the question with the young lady’s stub- 
born father. Presently he said : 

‘Tf you will give your consent, Miss Gerie, I 
can procure the services of Judge Iluling who is 
an elegant gentleman.” 

‘‘Yes/’ said Col. Paine, “that will do. I don’t 
see what objection any one can have to him.” 

And to this suggestion Miss Gerie had to con- 
sent, or not be married at all. So the matter 
Avas settled. 

Miss Junie, notwithstanding her surroundings, 
was happy. Every Sabbath Milson went out in 
his buggy for her and carried her to church. Her 
affection for him increased as the weeks went by. 
Soon she Avould be his “help-meet” for life. 

And noAV in the progress of our story we come 
to one of those events which gives to human his- 
tory such a melancholy aspect, and which causes 
us to stand appalled at the workings and ways of 
Divine Providence. 

John Milson had some law business at a little 
village in Pontotoc county, Mississippi, which re- 
quired his attention. Accordingly one day he 
left Holly Springs, and late the following night 
he reached his destination. His business was 
transacted the next day ; and the day after he 
started back home. But he was not alone. He 
left the village in company with a peddler Avho 
desired to make his way across t]ie country to 
Hernando, Miss. It was an apparent accident 
that threAV the two together. The peddler had 


FIERY TRIALS. 


324 

somehow found out that Milson was going at 
least a part of the way in the direction which he 
himself was traveling ; and as he was a stranger 
in the country, it would be pleasant to have the 
company of one who was acquainted with the 
best route. The peddler drove a vehicle which 
in times gone by was very similar to what was 
called a ‘^carry-all.” To this two very fine 
horses were attached. The man ’was a clock and 
watch peddler. The railroads, by almost anni- 
hilating distance between rural districts and 
cities have now abolished this species of trade 
from the country; but it was quite common 
in the times when our story occurred. 

So Milson and the peddler journey on together 
till they reached the Tallahatchie river, which 
they easily forded. When they had reached the 
shore Milson caught a glimpse of a man not far 
from the opposite bank, whom he took to be a 
hunter ; and consequently did not give the mat- 
ter another thought. Milson said to the peddler 
as soon as they had crossed the stream : 

^‘There is an old road which is not very often 
traveled ; but it is in a very good condition at 
this season of the year. By taking that road 
you will shorten your journey five or six miles.” 

The peddler seemed to hesitate for a moment; 
but to save traveling five or six miles was some- 
thing of a consideration in those daj^s. So he 
decided to act upon Milson’ s suggestion. He 
made some inquiry in regard to the route, and 


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325 


then the two parted. When they had started 
Milson heard the clattering of a horse’s feet on 
the opposite side of the stream; but he supposed 
it was the hunter whom he had seen a few mo- 
ments before. So he pursued his journey. When 
he had gotten a few hundred yards from the river 
he heard the report of a pistol not more than a 
quarter of a mile distant, which report he judged 
to be close to the road which the peddler was 
traveling. But it was no very uncommon thing 
to hear the report of fire-arms anywhere in the 
country. A moment afterward Milson noticed a 
deer standing in the road broad-side to him. The 
wild animal was running from the hounds ; and as 
a deer will generally do, had stopped for an 
instant when it reached the highway. It was- 
the custom in those days for all travelers, and 
also for a great many that were not travelers, to 
go armed. So our reader needs not he surprised 
to hear that Milson on this trip had carried a 
pistol, which he quickly drew and fired at the 
deer standing only a few yards from him in the 
road. He soon perceived that he had struck his 
game, and that the animal was badly wounded. 
So he started in 'pursuit of the deer, which he 
Avould soon have overtaken had it not been for 
the roughness and thickness of the undergrowth. 
He slowly followed his game till he came to the 
old road which the peddler had taken. There he 
came to a sudden halt. A sight met his vision 
that caused his blood to run cold. In the road 


FIERY TRIALS. 


326 

stood the peddler s vehicle ; but the horses were 
gone. In the carry-all he perceived the peddler s 
motionless body. A horrible murder had been 
committed. Impelled by sympathy and motives 
of duty Milson dismounted and tied his bridle to 
a limb close to the road-side, and then went to 
the vehicle. From the head of the prostrate 
form a portion of the brain had oozed out. The 
trunks had been broken open and rifled, and the 
horses stolen. The robber or robbers in their 
haste had left several silver watches. Milson 
put these in his pockets intending to keep them 
till he could report to the authorities. Suddenly 
the thought entered his head, ‘‘suppose some one 
should come upon me in this situation, how easy 
it would be to prove that I committed the mur- 
der ! I have read of such cases ; and this would 
be one in which the circumstances would cer- 
tainlj^ be conclusive against me. I do not know 
how I could get out of the difficulty. There is 
no legal way by which I could prove I did not 
do it.’’ 

The thought frightened him to such an extent 
that he resolved to leave in haste and carry the 
news to the first house, with whose owner he had 
some acquaintance. If he could do this he would 
be safe. So he got out of the peddler’s vehicle 
as quickly as possible. But scarcely had he 
made three or four rapid steps towards his horse 
before the thought that had flashed through his 
mind, to his horror and amazement was trans- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


327 

formed into an awful reality. For two hunters 
emerged from the thicket into the road not more 
than twenty paces from the scene of the murder. 
They saw the dead man and Milson’s hasty move- 
ments and rather frightened looks, and their sus- 
picions were at once aroused. They promptly 
leveled their guns at him, and commanded him 
to halt. Milson was dumbfounded. He was 
seized with violent trembling, and he turned as 
pale as a corpse. 

^^What does this mean, sir?” sternly demanded 
one of the hunters. 

‘^You know as much as I do, gentlemen,” re- 
plied Milson in a quivering voice. ^Tt was a mere 
accident you found me here.” 

^L\ccident!” cried the hunter. ^‘Yes, I guess 
it was an accident, for in a few minutes we wouldn’t 
hev found you here at all.” 

“I meant it was a mere accident that brought 
me here.” 

^Ht looks mighty suspicious. Aint that man 
dead in the carry-all ?” 

‘Hie is — shot through the head,” replied Mil- 
son. 

“Who done it ?” asked the hunter. 

“I have not the slightest idea.” 

“Hold ! young man ! this thing has got to be 
investigated. It appears to me that you must 
a killed that man yourself “Jim,” he continued 
“set on your horse till I git dowm ; keep your 
gun on him, an’ if he attempts to run, shoot him. 
I’ll soon see into this business,” 


328 


FIERY TRIALS. 


Saying this the hunter dismounted, and tied 
his horse. Milson saw that resistance would 
only make matters worse. So he stood still. 
However unfavorable appearances might he ; yet 
knowing that he was innocent, he hoped that he 
could convince the hunters of the fact. The hun- 
ters then approached him and said : 

‘^Now if you please ITl search you.” 

Milson began to explain. 

^^None o’ yer blarney,” said the man, ^‘hold 
up yer hands till I search you.” 

Milson, perceiving that it was useless to at- 
tempt any explanation, did as he was ordered. 
Once he was on the point of drawing his pistol 
and defending himself. But this would only 
make against him. The best policy he soon con- 
cluded was submission. 

The hunter in his search found first Miisdn’s 
pistol, which was a revolver. 

^•Look at this,” said the hunter. ‘Tt begins 
to look suspicious — one barrel empty — and jest 
bin fired off.” 

Next he came to the silver watches. 

^^Worse and worse — not much in this. It all 
looks nat’ral.” 

The hunter then found in Milson’s pocket book 
over five hundred dollars. 

^^Still worse,” he said. don’t think thar’s 
much doubt that 3mu’ve jest murdered that man 
in the cany-all. Every circumstance is agin 
you.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


329 


The hunter then got into the cany-all, and ex- 
amined the wound on the peddler s head. Then 
he said : 

^^Every thing is agin you, young man. Thar’s 
no use to deny that you killed this man.” 

Milson once more endeavored to speak. 

^‘Now, gentlemen,” he said, ^^you have had 
your own way ; I have offered no resistance, 
because I am conscious of my own innocence. If 
you have one particle of humanity in your hearts 
let me explain my connection with this affair.” 

‘‘Let’s hear, Tom,” said the [pother hunter, 
what he’s got to say.” 

“Wal, go on then,” said the person addressed, 
“we’ll give you a fair chance ; hut I don’t see 
what good it’ll do to try explain, when every 
single circumstance is agin you.” 

“Listen to me,” replied Milson in an earnest 
tone. He then went on to give a full account of 
all the circumstances, some of which he felt were 
against him. He explained how he happened to 
be in possession of the watches, and the money, 
which had been collected the day before at a lit- 
tle village in Pontotoc county — a fact which could 
be established to the satisfaction of everybody. 
The two hunters listened patiently to the ex- 
planation; and then one of them remarked : 

“Young feller, that’s a mighty purty tale ; but 
it won’t do. Facts is Licts ; and it’s as plain to 
me as day-light that you killed that peddler. 
You don’t look and talk like a man that ought to 


330 


FIERY TRIALS. 


do sich a awful thing as rob fin kill a poor ped- 
dler; but facts is facts. What w^as you a try in’ 
to git away so fast for ? and what ^vas you a 
doin’ with them watches. We can’t turn 3^ou 
loose on sich a lame story as you has told.” 

^^Gentlemen,” said Mil son, ^There is one thing 
that ought to convince you that I am innocent 
of this crime ; for it is evident that the peddler 
had horses; and now where are they ? If I had 
done this thing, you would certainly have found 
the horses in my possession.” 

^Tve bin lookin at the tracks,” said one of the 
hunters, ^^and my opinion is 3^ou had pardners in 
this business. They’ve gone with the horses. 
Jest as like as any other way 3^ou’re one of the 
Murrell gang, and I think you is. We’ll be bound 
to take 3^ou to the sheriff. If you ken prove 
that you didn’t kill the peddler I’ll be glad ; but 
if you can’t, it looks to me as if thar might be 
some bangin’ in the case. Jim,” he said address- 
ing his companion, ^Sve’ll have to take this feller 
to Holly Springs. We’ll stop at Bill Bonds’ an’ 
git him and some of his neighbors to come here 
and attend to the corpse.” 

Then they made Milson mount his horse, and 
ride ahead, one of them remarking that if he 
^Tried to run his hide wouldn’t hold shucks.” 
But there was no necessity for the threat. Mil- 
son had not the most remote idea of attempting 
to escape. He would not have done so, if he 
could; because he knew that flight would 01113" 


FIERY TRIALS. 


331 

strengthen the circumstances against him. He 
firmly believed that he would be able to establish 
his innocence ; yet the thought caused rather a 
painful apprehension that it would be difficult to 
explain some of the circumstances in the case. 
In a legal point of view he felt that they were 
unfavorable. As he was thinking over the situa- 
tion they were moving on toward Holly Springs 
as rapidly as the circumstances would allow. 
Milson said nothing to his captors, seeing that it 
would be a mere w^aste of words ; besides he had 
already made every explanation which was pos- 
sible, and it had no effect upon them. 

When they reached the house of Wm. Bonds 
the two hunters reported the awful occurrence, 
and pointed to their captive as the perpetrator. 

^^Good heavens ! ” cried Mr. Bonds, wheu he 
had heard the story, ^^you didn’t do that ! I 
can’t believe it.” 

^^No, Mr. Bonds,” replied Milson calmly, 
am as innocent of that horrible crime as the very 
angels, though I confess that from a legal point 
of view some circumstances appear to be against 
me. So I really cannot blame these honest and 
law-abiding citizens for arresting me. It is merely 
an accidental train of circumstances that has 
singled me out as the murderer. I am not without 
hope that the true perpetrator will be appre- 
hended in time to acquit me; or at least some 
clue will be obtained that will establish my 
innocence.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


332 

^^Look here, men,” said Mr. Bonds, ^Tve 
known John Milson ever since he was a boy. I 
never can believe he murdered that man. There’s 
some mistake as sure as you live ; you’ve got the 
wrong man certain. I tell you, you’ve made a 
mistake.” 

say mistake,” replied one of* the hunters. 
‘Tf you’d a bin thar you wouldn’t a’ thought 
thar was any mistake. We come on ’im almost 
in the very act.” 

^^But you didn’t see him shoot?” said Bonds. 

‘‘No ; but we found nobody else thar except 
him ; we heerd the pistol fire, and when we got 
thar he was a makin’ off with three or four watches 
in his pocket, besides five hundred dollars and 
up’erds in cash. Here’s his pistol ; and you can 
see for yourself that it’s loaded exceptin’ the one 
barrel.” 

Here Milson spoke up and explained the mat- 
ter to Mr. Bonds, who after having heard this 
version of the affair, said : 

“I believe you John. Men,” he continued, 
addressing the hunters, “you may depend upon 
it that this young man is telling the truth. I jest 
know he wouldn’t tell a lie about it.” 

“0, pshaw ! Bill Bonds,” exclaimed one of the 
hunters, “you don’t know what you’re a talkin’ 
about. Facts is filets, an’ it’s no use to deny 
’em. It ’pears to me like this young feller is one 
0 ’ Murrell’s gang. Thar’s no doubt that he had 
’complices, for the horses was gone.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


333 

‘^You can never make me b’lieve,” said Bonds, 
shaking his head to give emphasis to the asser- 
tion, ^That John Milson had anything to do with 
that crime. I know him too well for that. I 
b’lieve it’s jest exactly as he says it is, and 
you’ll find it so too. You’ve got the wrong man 
shure.” 

^T tell you. Bill Bonds,” said one of the 
hunters with energy, ^fif you’d a’ bin ’long with 
us, an’ seen the feller’s motions as we did, you’d 
hev a differ’nt ’pinion. We’ll he bound to take 
’im to the sheriff; an’ if he ken prove he’s not 
guilty I’ll be mighty glad on it ; but jest as mat- 
ters is now it ’ud be wrong to turn ’im loose.” 

^Tt is useless, Mr. Bonds,” said Milson, ^To 
argue the question with these gentlemen. I do 
not blame them for discharging their duty; in 
fact, I am glad we have such honest, law-abiding 
citizens. Y'ou can see, at least from a legal 
standpoint that they have some grounds for sus- 
picion against me. But if you are a friend to 
me, watch the peddler’s corpse till a jury of 
inquest can reach the spot ; which will be some 
time to-morrow. Let nothing be disturbed. To 
corroborate my story, please take your dogs and 
track up the deer which I shot. I am satisfied 
you can find it; for it was badly wounded. You 
see the discovery of that deer will be a very im- 
portant circumstance in my defense.” 

^Til do anything for you, John, that I can,” 
said Mr. Bonds. ‘^I’ll have that deer if it’s pos- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


334 

sible for dogs to track ’im ; and if they can’t 
track ’im I’ll scour the Tallahatchie, bottom till 
I do find ’im.” 

The party then pushed on for Holly Springs. 
Hut everything now seemed to be against Milson. 
For in half an hour after leaving Mr. Bonds’ res- 
idence there came up a very hard shower of rain. 
Bonds went out in the rain with his hounds to 
track the deer, but the tracks were destroyed or 
so filled with w\ater, that no dog could follow the 
trail. The next day Mr. Bonds and his neigh- 
bors hunted over the bottom for miles ; but no 
trace of the animal could be found. Thus one 
important link in the chain of Milson’s defense 
was hopelessly broken. 

When the hunters reached Holly Springs that 
night, poor Milson was lodged in jail. The next 
morning Avhen it became known that he had been 
arrested on a charge of most foul murder there 
was intense excitement. Numbers of his friends 
called to see him, and among others Dr. Archer. 
Few could believe that Milson was guilty ; but 
they could not deny that the circumstances as 
related by the hunters were decidedly against 
him. The legal evidence of the crime, they 
could not bub see, was almost conclusive, even 
according to Milson’s own version of the matter. 

^^John,” said Dr. Archer, firmly believe 
your statement in regard to this unfortunate 
affair. But you are a lawyer, and I have been 
one ; and you and I cannot but see that your 


FIERY TRIALS. 


335 

case is extremely critical. However, you may 
rely on me as your friend. I will serve you in 
any way that I can.” 

am under obligation to you Dr. Archer, for 
your kind offer. Will you be one of my legal 
counsel ?” 

^^Certainly, if you desire it.” 

^T will thank you,” said Milson, ^hf you will 
secure also the services of Mr. Barton. I think 
with you two acting for the defense I will be 
safe. 

hope, John, you have not forgotten your 
best friend. If you secure Him, then indeed 
will you be safe.” 

‘^Who is that?” asked Milson. 

^Tt is,” answered the preacher, ‘^a friend that 
sticketh closer than a brother — a friend who has 
done more for you than any else — the Lord Jesus 
Christ.” 

^^Doctor,” said Milson thoughtfully and sorrow- 
fully, ‘T have recently been reflecting a great 
deal on that subject, and I have promised myself 
that I would give to it the necessary attention. 
But I will confess to you that I am not satisfied 
as to the divine origin of the Bible. Just so soon 
as I am extricated from this difficulty I am going 
to investigate till I am satisfied.” 

^^But, John,” replied Dr. Archer with deep 
and impressive solemnity, am afraid for you to 
postpone this matter of such awful importance. 
1 do not blame you for having your doubts ; but 


FIERY TRIALS. 


336 

I would blame you very much if you do not try 
to get rid of them.” 

‘Tn my present condition^ Doctor, I cannot 
concentrate my mind on any subject except my 
own defense. But I promise you that just so 
soon as my trial in the Magistrate’s Court is 
ended, no matter how it may terminate, I will put 
it off no longer. It will be but a few days till 
the trial comes off,” 

^^Yery well, if you will so have it. But there 
is one thing which you can do, and do at once. 
You can pray God to give you His Holy Spirit to 
enlighten your mind.” 

will try to do so. Doctor. But I am so 
awfully perplexed and troubled that I can now 
think of nothing but my present situation.” 

^‘Yes, but we are told that the Lord is our 
Refuge and strength, a very present help in 
trouble. Now why not go to our merciful Heav- 
enly Father with your trouble.?” 

‘‘Doctor, you know a man cannot pray with 
proper faith who has serious doubts in regard to 
the divine authenticity of the Bible. In a short 
time I promise you again that with your assist- 
ance and your direction I will commence the 
work of investigation. But, if you will excuse 
me for saying it, my case in a legal point of 
view must be attended to first. You appreciate 
the necessity of prompt action.” 

“Yes,” said Dr. Archer, who did not think it 


FIERY TRIALS. 


337 

prudent to press the other matter, ‘Sve must 
begin to take steps at once.’' 

‘‘Please see Mr. Barton immediately.” 

“I will go to his office now,” said Dr. Archer. 
‘‘Try to be cheerful, John.” 

Accordingly the preacher took his leave and 
soon secured the services of Mr. Barton, who 
was at the time one of the most celebrated law- 
yers in the Criminal Court in the State of Mis- 
sissippi. lie had achieved a wide-spread reputa- 
tion, which was deserved too ; for he had worked 
his way up by native energy and talents. Mr. 
Barton willingly undertook the case of Milson, 
to whom he was a warm friend. At once he set 
about the business of procuring testimony. He 
went to the jail, and obtained all the facts of 
which Milson was in possession. Then he saw 
the Magistrate, and came to an understanding as 
to when the trial should take place. Having 
done this he forthwith set out for Pontotoc 
county to the village where Milson had collected 
the money found on his person. On the ’way he 
stopped at the house of Mr. Bonds, and got him 
to promise that he and his neighbors would search 
the bottom again for that deer. 

“You shall be well paid for your trouble and 
time,” said Mr. Barton. “If we can only secure 
the body of that deer, it will corroborate Milson’s 
statement, and will account for the empty barrel 
of his pistol.” 

“I don’t want any pay, Mr. Barton, for such 


FIERY TRIALS. 


338 

service as that. I will do anything I can for 
John Milson, who no more killed that man than 
I did. But I’m afraid it’s too late. I’ve already 
searched.” 

^'Go to the river,” said Mr. Barton, ^^and look 
up and down the stream. It may be that the 
deer attempted to cross the river and was drowned. 
From Milson’s statement the animal could not 
have gone far before it died.” 

Mr. Bonds promised that he would make every 
possible effort to discover the animal’s body. 

Accordingly Mr. Bonds secured the services 
of as many of his neighbors as he could ; and for 
two days a diligent search was made. The3Mvent 
up and down the river for several miles, but no 
trace of the deer could ever be found. At last 
the general conclusion was that Milson was mis- 
taken in regard to the severity of the wound, and 
that the animal had left that part of the countiy; 
so the search was sorrowfully abandoned — sor- 
rowfull}^, because there was general sympathy 
for Milson. 

Mr. Barton went with the jury of inquest to 
the scene of the murder. In walking around the 
spot examining everything which could throw 
any light on the subject without any particular 
object in view, he stepped behind a large tree 
that stood only a few feet from the road-side. 
The tree was hollow, and would easily admit of 
the entrance of a human being. His eye fell up- 
on a pocket handkerchief in this tree, which he 


FIERY TRIALS. 


339 


eagerly seized. It was a very common article. 
In one corner he easily perceived some rude let- 
ters wmrked in red cotton thread. It did not re- 
quire much study to spell out the name W. Z. 
Boland. He put the handkerchief in his pocket, 
and then without saying anything in regard to 
his discovery, he inquired of the persons present 
if they knew such a man as W. Z. Boland. But 
no one had ever heard of the name before. Not 
being able to discover anything more of impor- 
tance Mr. Barton pushed on to Pontotoc county 
where he obtained the facts with which our 
reader is acquainted. He returned to Holly 
Springs with only one man as a witness. 

In a day or two afterwards a preliminary trial 
was held in the Magistrate’s Court. The two 
hunters that had arrested Milson appeared as 
witnesses against him. The defense had only 
one witness, and that was the man from whom 
Milson had collected the five hundred dollars 
that had been found on his person. The estab- 
lishment of this fact was the only circumstance 
that seemed to corroborate Milson’s account of 
the matter; and that in itself weighed little 
against the overwhelming evidence on the other 
side. Mr. Barton and Dr, Archer had no hope 
of the acquittal of their client. All that they 
could reasonably expect to accomplish was to 
have Milson bound over to the Circuit Court to 
await his trial under bond. They apprehended 
no difficulty in making the bond no matter how 


340 


FIERY TRIALS. 


heavy it might be. But they were defeated in 
their efforts ; for the Magistrate decided that it 
was not a bailable case. So the trial ended. 
There was no help for it ; and Milson was forced 
to go to jail. 

As might be expected the news of the shock- 
ing murder soon spread rapidly over the country, 
together with the arrest of John Milson. People 
were astounded. The young man’s friends would 
not and could not believe that he was guilty ; and 
yet the circumstantial evidence was so strong 
against him that they had little hope of his final 
acquittal. 

The awful news soon reached the ears of one 
upon whom Milson dreaded its effects. It is just 
impossible lo describe the amazement and horror 
of Junie Paine. The news came over her like a 
mountain billow. When good Mr. Jones an- 
nounced to her the fearful news, she sat still as 
if petrified. Not a word escaped her lips. But 
every trace of color faded from her cheeks. If 
Mr. Jones had ever had any doubt as to her feel- 
ing toward Milson, Junie had now betrayed her- 
self. The poor girl, stricken with grief too deep 
for utterance, went off to her room and fell upon 
her bed. It seemed that her very heart must 
burst under the terrible weight of this new 
trouble. Then she began to weep, and wept on 
till it appeared that the fountain of her tears was 
exhausted. 

The next day after she had received this 


FIERY TRIALS. 


341 


startling news^ a letter in the handwriting of 
John Milson was delivered to her. Eagerly she 
tore open the seal and read as follows : 

My Dear Junie: — Will you still allow me to call you “dear ?” I 
have nothing in the world to live for but you. If you cast me off 
in this dark houir of trial I care not what may become of me so far 
as this world is concerned. You will no doubt have learned before 
this reaches you, of the fearful crime of which I am accused. I am 
entangled by a chain of circumstances which have mysteriously fas- 
tened upon me as a wretch guilty of murder and robbery. 1 am in 
great perplexity and distress. I cannot see my way out of this ter- 
rible affair. But, dearest, God knows that I am innocent of this 
crime. I am incapable of such a horrible deed. Will you believe 
my solemn protest ? My hand is as free from the blood'of that poor 
peddler as yours is. But I will not attempt to enter into any ex- 
planation. The whole affair is wrapped in profound mystery. Dr. 
Archer promised me that he would see you, and give you the only 
explanation which I have it in my power to make in regard to this 
sad and unfortunate affair. From the present aspect of the case 1 
do not know that he can convince you of my innocence. Circum- 
stances are certainly against me from a legal point of view. You 
therefore have nothing but my emphatic denial of the horrible 
charge against me. My dearest, I cannot ask you still to be faith- 
ful to one who is now confined in a felon’s cell. I cannot ask you 
to share in my disgrace. If you think best you can terminate our 
engagement, and thus put an end to the bright dream which, for 
weeks past, like a brilliant rainbow, has spanned the skies across my 
pathway. Believe me, my love, when that beautiful dream vanishes 
the last gleam of light will be shut out by the threatening clouds 
and I shall sink down into darkness that nothing can dispel. If un- 
der present circumstances you decide to discard me I cannot cen- 
sure you, and I will love you none the less. But I beg you to 
remember one thing : whatever may be the result — if my worst fears 
are realized I shall assert my innocence to the last. I shall close 
till I hear from you either by letter or through our mutual and dear 
friend Dr. Archer. Yours in trouble, 

JOHN MILSON. 

When Junie had finished reading the above 
letter, a flood of tears rushed to her eyes. She 
fell upon her knees by the bed-side, ?ind prayed 
God to give her strength to bear this awful trial. 
She prayed for poor John Milson, who ^vas then 
lying in a loathsome jail. The thought could find 
no lodgement in her heart for even a moment, 
that her lover was guilty of murder and robbery. 


342 


FIERY TRIALS. 


She could no more believe that, than she could 
believe herself to be guilty. So she prayed God 
to clear up the mystery which bung over this 
awful affair, and to discover the true murderer. 
Then she whispered to herself : will never 

desert one around whom cluster my hopes of 
earthly happiness. I know he is as innocent of 
this crime as are the angels of Heaven. His 
noble nature would not permit him to do such a 
shocking thing. Others may forsake him as a 
guilty wretch, but I will be true to the last. I 
have promised to be his, and I will be, if I go 
down to my grave in dishonor.” Then she 
clasped her hands and cried, ^^Oh, God of Good- 
ness and Mercy ! thou art too wise to err and too 
compassionate to be cruel. Why then should he 
suffer, and probably be made to expiate a crime 
of which he is not guilty ? Can thy providential 
care not bring the real murderer to light ? Oh, 
my God ! protect the innocent. But thou wilt 
do right. Help me to be resigned to thy will, 
whatever it may be. But noble John Milson did 
not do this thing— he could not — it is impossible. 
Oh, Lord wdlt thou, canst thou permit justice to 
be trampled under foot ? Wilt thou not interfere 
and save virtue from outrage. Oh, is it possible 
that the Great and Wise God wdll permit an in- 
nocent man to die in shame and disgrace, and 
allow the guilty one to escape ? It cannot be — 
it must not be — it wmuld be a reflection upon the 
divine government of the w^orld.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


343 


Thus, in this rambling way, half-talked and 
half-prayed poor Junie Paine. It required all 
her physical nerve and all her faith to bear up 
under this fiery trial. She knew not with what 
intensity she loved Milson till he was overtaken 
by this fearful calamity. How she wanted to go 
to him even in the jail ! But this was forbidden 
by ordinary prudence. That night she wrote a 
letter to Milson, so long that we have not space 
to give its contents. Neither is it necessary. 
When the young man received it the sweet words 
of comfort and love fell like balm upon his heart, 
and let into his prison through the rifted clouds 
a bright beam of sunshine. 

The next day after the trial in the Magistrate’s 
Court Mr. Barton and Dr. Archer had a long 
consultation in regard to the case. Neither one 
had the most remote idea that Milson was guilty. 
They firmly believed his version of the affair ; 
but they had no way to prove its correctness. 
The impression was somehow made upon the 
mind of Dr. Archer that the key to the whole 
mystery was contained in that pocket handker- 
chief which Mr. Barton had found in the hollow 
tree. Why, he could not tell. It was one of 
those strange thoughts which sometimes come 
into the mind from some hidden and unaccount- 
able source. He stated his conviction to Mr. 
Barton ; and both at last came to the conclusion 
that they would make an effort to discover the 
owner. Said Dr. Archer to Mr. Barton : 


344 


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^^Things more insignificant than a pocket hand- 
kerchief have sometimes changed the current of 
human history. It would not be at all strange 
then, if Milson s life should he saved by that 
common, cotton handkerchief.” 

Accordingly they inserted an advertisement 
in the papers making inquiry after one W. Z. 
Boland, with whom they had business of vital 
importance. They would be glad to receive a 
communication from him or from anyone ac- 
quainted with his place of residence. 

They waited with much anxiety for a response ; 
but though the advertisement was inserted in 
many papers, no answer ever came. And now 
we must turn our attention to some other matters 
of great importance. . 


CHAPTER XIX. 

The next day after the preliminary examina- 
tion in the Magistrate’s Court, Dr. Archer called 
at the jail w^here Milson was held in “duress 
vile.” The sight was enough to elicit the sym- 
pathy of anyone like the Doctor, who believed 
in his heart that the young man was innocent. 

Milson, as a matter of course, was in such dis- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


345 

tress as no words can depict. To be restrained 
of his person liberty was bad enough ; yet if the 
misfortune had terminated at that he could have 
endured his confinement with some degree of 
resignation. The jailer, who was a friend, had 
made his quarters as comfortable as a prison 
would allow. But the thought that there should 
be grounds, as there undoubtedly were, for the 
suspicion that his hands had been imbrued in the 
blood of a fellow-being, and for such a vile pur- 
pose as robbery, made his soul recoil with horror. 
To a refined, upright man, with a sensitive nature 
like his the sense of disgrace was so keen and 
overpowering, that, at times, his reason would seem 
to totter on its throne . Sometimes it appeared 
to him that his situation was only a horrible 
dream. It is simply impossible to describe his 
emotions. 

‘^John,” said Dr. Archer, giving him a warm 
friendly grasp while his eyes were moistened 
with tears, ^language cannot convey my sympathy 
for you in this dark day of trial. I confess that 
I am shocked and astounded. I stand appalled 
at the mysterious circumstances that inclose an 
innocent man in a net-work through which at 
present I see no way of breaking. You under- 
stand the difficulties as well as I do. And yet 
the Holy Bible tells us that all is for the best. 
We, poor finite mortals cannot comprehend the 
ways of Divine Providence.” 

‘^The trouble with me. Doctor, is to believe 


346 FIERY TRIALS. 

that Divine Providence is concerned in this affair 
at all. Do you believe that a just God would 
permit an innocent man to be brought into dis- 
grace and ignominy, as I am? If I were guilty 
I could easily perceive, or at least would be dis- 
posed to acknowledge the hand of God all through 
the horrible affair. But to have all my earthly 
prospects blighted in an hour, and all my fond 
hopes and bright anticipations scattered like dust 
— and to be accused of a crime at the commission 
of which my soul revolts, to say nothing of events 
to come — all this. Doctor, appears to me more 
like a series of unfortunate coincidences, or ac- 
cidents, or chances, or by whatever name you 
may call them, than the deliberate plans of a wise 
and merciful God.” 

^^John, my dear boy,” said the preacher in a tone 
full of sympathy and kindness, ^^speak not harsh- 
ly of our Heavenly Father who doeth all things 
well, and whose purposes you cannot fathom. 
God sees not things as men do. He allows a 
great many events to transpire that are very per- 
plexing to us poor worms of the dust. I have no 
doubt that this awful calamity as you regard it, 
and as .1 too regard it in one sense, is intended 
for your good either in this world or the world to 
come — it may be both. You may rest assured 
that God will in some way bring good out of it. 
If it result in your becoming a Christian, your 
suffering will not have been in vain. Heaven is 
worth any sacrifice that it is in the power of man 


FIERY TRIALS. 


347 

to make. Any temporal calamity that will cause 
us to take Refuge in Christ will one day be re- 
garded by us as a blessing.” 

candidly confess to you, Doctor, as I have 
intimated before, that I am not satisfied as to the 
existence of such a heaven as I have heard you 
describe in your sermons. I have told you that 
I have no objections to Christianity as a system of 
religion. I can admit that it is the only system 
that furnishes any reasonable basis for the hope 
of immortality. If I could only be thoroughly 
satisfied that the Bible is a Divine Revelation I 
would even gladl}^ become a Christian ” 

“Well, why can you not believe it? What is 
in your way ?” 

“I want the proof,” said Milson slowly, “that 
it is not a forgery— that it is not an uninspired 
production.” 

“Your demand is perfectly reasonable,” said 
the preacher. “You have the right to require 
such. God does not demand that w^e shall believe 
without evidence. Now why can you not receive 
the Bible as true iust as you do any other 
history?’’ 

“How do I know. Dr. Archer, that there ever 
existed such persons as Moses and Joshua and 
Matthew, and all the other writers of the Bible?” 

“I will ask you, John, how do you know that 
such a person as Julius Csesar ever lived ? ” 

“I know that, because we have his history ; 


348 FIERY TRIALS. 

and because his works are referred to by other 
historians.” 

^^Would you accept the same kind of proof in 
regard to the divine authenticity of the Bible ? ” 

‘T would accept it,” replied Milson, after a 
thoughtful pause, ‘^as establishing the genuine- 
ness of the Bible.” 

‘‘You are right. I am glad that you see the 
importance of making a distinction between the 
gonuineness and the authenticity of a book. You 
must be satisfied first that the work is written 
by the person or persons that are its reputed 
authors ; and then you must next consider 
whether they tell the truth.” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Milson, “it seems to me 
that would be the proper way to proceed.” 

“Have you never,” asked the preacher, “inves- 
tigated the evidences of Christianity at all ? ” 

“No sir ; I intended to do so, but for some 
reason — I hardly know why — I have put it off. 
Besides I have not had access to the necessary 
sources of information. But I suppose you can 
answer such questions as I desire to ask. If so 
the work of investigation needs not occupy much 
time.” 

“I will with pleasure,” replied Dr. Archer, 
^‘answer any question that I can. I have devoted 
a great deal of time to this subject, and probably 
I may be able to give you satisfactory answers, 
and thus save you the trouble of reading a large 
number of books. I see that you want Chris- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


349 

tianity to be true, and that is half the battle. I 
have noticed that whenever a man goes into the 
investigation with the wish or hope that the 
Bible is false, he will persuade himself that such 
is the case in spite of all argument. Besides, 
you cannot get him to give the subject a 
fair and full investigation. Instead of giving 
assent to a truth or an argument, he is all the 
time trying to confirm his preconceived notions. 
I have little hope of the conversion of such 
an infidel as that ; and I am glad to know 
that you do not belong to that class. But before 
you propose a question let me make a suggestion^ 
which, if 3"ou act upon it, will enable us to reach 
a conclusion much sooner.” 

^^What is that ? ” 

^‘We need not investigate the question of the 
divine authenticity of the Old Testament script- 
ures at all. Because if the New Testament is gen- 
uine and authentic so is the Old.” 

^‘Why so, sir ?” 

‘‘From the simple fact that Christ and the 
apostles refer to it as an inspired book and there- 
by endorse it. You are bound to admit that if 
Jesus Christ was the Son of God, His endorsement 
alone of the Old Testament establishes its divine 
origin.” 

“I am glad. Doctor, you have made that sug- 
gestion. I had not thought of that. Of course 
if the New Testament is true, so is the Old. So 
if you will satisfy me that the New Testament is 


350 


FIERY TRIALS. 


genuine and authentic, that will be proof enough.” 

^‘Very well. Now ask me such questions as 
you wish.” 

Milson studied for a moment and then said : 

^AVhat proof have you that Matthew, Mark, 
Luke and John wrote the Gospels to which their 
names are attached ? 

^‘We know it from the testimony of both the 
enemies and the friends of the Christian religion. 
We have more and stronger evidence to establish 
the genuineness and authenticity of the New Tes- 
tament than any other book in the world.” 

^‘Strange as you may think of it Doctor, I do 
not recollect of ever having seen any allusion to 
the Christian religion by any heathen author, ex- 
cept Tacitus.” 

^^There are many persons, John, who are in 
your condition, leaving out Tacitus. They do 
not know that there is any allusion at all to the 
Bible by profane historians. But I suppose the 
passage in Tacitus satisfies you in regard to the 
actual existence of Christ and his followers ?” 

^‘Yes, sir. I have no doubt of that.” 

‘‘Well now, if you can take my w^ord for it, I 
will refer you first to the testimony of some of 
the enemies of Christianity, which is invaluable 
because they would make no admission which 
was the least favorable to the Christian religion 
unless they were forced to it by the pressure of 
facts too plain to be denied. I will first name 


FIERY TRIALS. 351 

Tiyplio. lie was a most bitter foe to the Chris- 
tian religion.” 

'‘When (lid he live, Doctor ? ” 

“Ilis birth occurred before the death of the 
apostle John. Of course tin 1 ho could and did 
obtain the facts in regard to Christ. This man 
h;id a public* debate with Justyn Martyr about 
A. D., 140. In that discussion Justyn related 
many of the facts recorded in the Gospels, and 
Trypho admits the facts — a thing which he would 
not have done, if he could have denied them. 
Trypho says that Christ was crucified, and then 
he refers to the Christian belief that Jesus was 
born of a virgin, and rose from the grave, and 
ascended into heaven.” 

‘•But, Doctor, does Trypho admit that these 
things were true ? ” 

^^No, — not all of them. I am not trying to 
prove that they were true by his testimony, but 
only that they were believed by Christians at 
that early day. I prove by him that the facts 
of the life of Jesus which we now believe, were 
believed at that early day. Here is one enemy of 
Christianity who tells us what the followers of 
Christ then believed. If you doubt my statement 
I can show it to you in a book which I have.” 

^‘Certainly, Dr. Archer, I do not doubt the 
correctness of your statement. I will take your 
word for it that you have this evidence.” 

^Wery well then,” said the preacher, refer 
next to Celsus. He was born sometime during 


FIERY TRIALS. 


352 

tlie reign of Adrian, which began A. D., 117, 
and ended A. D., 138. He was an Epicurean 
philosopher, and wrote a book against the Chris- 
tians entitled ^Tlie True Word.’ Now, Origen, 
in his reply to this work, states all the objections 
of Celsus in his own words, and minutely ex- 
amines them all. This philosopher confines him- 
self to the narratives contained in the New 
Testament, and does not refer to any spurious 
gospels. He admits that Christians then believed 
that Jesus w^as born of a virgin, that Herod 
destroyed the infants of Bethlehem, that Jesus 
went into Egypt, that he had twelve apostles, 
and that he was crucified. He refers to the fact 
that the disciples forsook Jesus when He was 
arrested, and also to the gall and vinegar, and he 
even quotes the expression which Jesus used, 
Hither, if it be possible, let this cup pass from 
me.’ So, here we have the testimony of Celsus 
to the facts to which the Christians held. Next,” 
continued the Doctor, ^T refer to Porphyry. He 
was born about the year A. D., 233. He wu’ote 
a large treatise in fifteen books against the Chris- 
tian religion.” 

^^Are those books extant?” asked Milson. 

^^Only some fragments remain,” replied the 
preacher. ^^But we have enough left to show 
Avhat he admitted. He was one of the most 
learned opponents that Christianity ever had. 
But lie did not deny the genuineness of the New 
Testament writings, but his aim was to overthrow 


FIERY TRIALS. 


355 

their authority by attempting to point out contra- 
dictions and absurdities. He never pretended 
to deny the miracles of the New Testament, but 
he ascribed them to cunning demons. If Por- 
phyry had not been thoroughly convinced that 
these miracles had been actually performed, he 
would never have admitted that they were. But 
they had entered into history, and he could not 
possibly deny them. Then he comments on a 
large number of passages from the New Testa- 
ment. We gather then from Porphyry that in 
his time not the slightest suspicion was enter- 
tained that the Holy Writings were forgeries. 
Their genuineness could not be questioned. Again, 
I refer to Hierocles, the philosopher, who was 
prefect in Alexandria in A. H., 303. He was 
well acquainted with our Scriptures, and brought 
up many objections against them, thus bearing 
testimony to their antiquity. He refers to both 
parts of the New Testament, — the gospels and 
the epistles. He mentions Peter and Paul by 
name; and does not attempt to deny the facts 
recorded in the New Testament. He contrasts 
the miracles of one Apollonius with those of 
Jesus, and says that the Christians reckoned 
Jesus a God because he performed a few miracles. 
I could refer to others,” continued Hr. Archer, 
‘^‘ill bearing testimony to the same Licts. But I 
want to call your attention to just one more wit- 
ness, —just such a witness as the infidel himself 
would desire to hear — an apostate from the Chris- 


354 


FIERY TRIALS. 


ticUi faith. It is Juliaiij the Koiiian Emperor, lie 
succeeded to the throne of the Cmsars, A. D. 361. 
This man once professed to he a Christian, but 
afterwards renounced his faith. In his youth he 
was trained up for an office in the church ; and he 
publicly read the Scriptures in the churches of 
Nicomedia. I make this statement on the au- 
thority of Gibbon. Julian was a man of great 
abilities, and wrote a great deal. Having been 
initiated into the church, and trained for the min- 
isterial office, he must have possessed every 
means of investigating the genuineness of the 
Scriptures. He also held in his hands the archives 
of the empire, to which the apologist of Christi- 
anity repeatedly appealed. If therefore there 
ever was a man who could successfully controvert 
the claims of Christianity, if they were false, he 
was the man. Well now, he does not attempt to 
invalidate the genuineness of the New Testament, 
but he plainly acknowledges the leading facts of 
the Gospel history. He admits that Jesus did 
heal lame and blind people and exorcised demon- 
iacs ; he speaks of the enrollment in the time of 
Cyrenius : he says that Jesus Tebuked the winds 
and walked on the sea, and cast out demons.’ 
Then he refers by name to Matthew, Mark, Luke, 
John, Paul and Peter; and he quotes from the 
Scriptures. It would seem that his testimony 
alone ought to be sufficient to establish the genu- 
ineness of the writings of the New Testament. 
One other circumstance in regard to him ought 


FIERY TRIALS. 


355 


not to be omitted. In order to falsify a prophecy 
of the Scriptures, he made preparations to rebuild 
the Temple at Jerusalem with the intention of 
restoring the Jewish mode of worship. When 
the workmen were digging up the ancient founda- 
tions and removing the rubish, we are informed 
that great balls of tire issued out of the ground 
and frightened the workmen so that they could 
not be induced to go back anymore.” 

^Jlut,” said Milson, ^^could not that phenome- 
non be explained on natural principles?” 

^^Suppose it could ? ” replied Dr. Archer. ^'The 
explanation does not destroy the fact. The 
attempt \vas made to do a thing which God said 
should not be done. The Lord could use natural 
means, and generally does, to frustrate designs 
which he does not desire to be executed.” 

^^But if the workmen,” said Milson, ^diad per- 
sisted might they not have succeeded ?” 

‘‘That supposition still does not invalidate the 
fact. Julian determined to falsify prophecy; he 
made the attempt, and for some reason failed ; 
that is the plain fact ; and it makes no difference 
whether fire balls issued from the ground or not 
But this is merely an incidental circumstance. 
Now I want to mention only a few of the early 
Christian writers. Why should not their testi- 
mony be entitled to as much w’^eight as that of a 
heathen ? ” 

“I think it is,” replied Milson. 

“Well then ; there is the epistle of Clement, 


FIERY TRIALS. 


356 

which was written about A. D., 90. He makes 
so many quotations from the New Testament that 
we are forced to the conclusion that it was in ex- 
istence in his day. There is no way to get rid 
of his testimony unless we deny the very exist- 
ence of Clement himself. 

Then there was Hernias who was contemporary 
with Paul. He wrote his work towa^*d the close 
of the first century ; and it is as clear as any 
thing can be that he was conversant with the 
New Testament Scriptures. 

Then there was Ignatius, Bishop of Antioch A. 
D., 70. It is certain that he was contemporary 
with the apostles. Chrysostom says that he had 
the hands of the apostles laid upon him. His 
writings make it manifest that he was familiar 
with the New Testament. 

Then there was Poly carp, who was an immedi- 
ate disciple of the apostle, and ivas appointed 
Bishop of Smyrna by John. He conversed with 
many who had seen Jesus. Now his epistle 
abounds with quotations from, and allusions to, 
the New Testament, so that it cannot be disputed 
that the sacred writings were in existence in his 
day. 

Next we come to Justyn ]\Iartyr, who was 
born in Palestine about A. H., 89 j and was at 
one period of his life a heathen philosopher. He 
wrote several pieces, three of which, and' whose 
genuineness is undisputed, are still extant. From 
his works might be extracted almost a complete 


FIERY TRIALS. 


357 

life of Christ as written in the gospels. To these 
gospels he appeals in the most public manner. 
He says they were generally read in all the 
churches. If this had not been true, the false- 
hood could have been easily detected. 

Next I refer to Irenaeus, who succeeded the 
martyr Polthynus in the bishoprick of Lyon about 
the year 170. In his youth he was the disciple 
of Polycarp ; therefore his testimony is of great 
value. Of all his works we have only five books 
against heresies remaining. The books of the 
New Testament he quotas as Divine Oracles ; 
and his works show that he had an intimate 
knowledge of the Gospels, Acts and Epistles. 

Next we come to Tertullian, a Presbyter of 
the church of Carthage, who was born in the 
year A. D., 160. He uniformly recognizes the 
four gospels, as written by the evangelists, dis- 
tinguishing Matthew and John as apostles, and 
Mark and Luke as apostolic men. His works 
are filled with quotations by name, and with 
long extracts from all the writings of the New 
Testament, except the epistle of James, the 
second epistle of Peter, and the second and third 
epistles of John. But as he did not profess to give 
a catalogue of the books of the New Testament — 
the fact that he neither quoted nor mentioned 
these books, is no evidence that they did not then 
form a part of the sacred canon. 

I believe it was Dr. Lardner who observed 
that the quotations from the small volume of the 


FIERY TRIALS. 


358 

New Testament by Tertullian, are both longer 
and more numerous than the quotations are from 
{ill the works of Cicero, in writers of all characters 
for several ages. 

I will omit the testimony of Clemens who was 
cotemporaiy with Tertullian. But descending to 
the third century and passing over a number of 
Christian writers, we come to the celebrated 
Origen, who was born in Egypt in A. D., 184 
or 185. In his works there are so many quota- 
tions from the Scriptures, that if we had all 
his writings, we should have before us almost the 
wdiole text of the Bible. 

When we descend to the fourth century, we 
find a multitude of witnesses to the genuineness 
of the books of the New Testament. They are 
too numerous to mention ; and I will name only 
one — Eusebius, — who flourished in A. D., 315. 
Ilis Ecclesiastical Histoiy is still extant, in which 
he records the history of Christianity from its 
commencement to his own time. Since the fourth 
century there have been so many writers, that I 
could not now refer to them. But I think I have 
shown you that both the enemies and friends of 
the Christian religion, during the first four cen- 
turies, give a united testimony to the genuine- 
ness of the New Testament Scriptures. If this 
evidence is not satisfactory, I know not how to 
make it stronger. Many more witnesses can be 
referred to; but if a man will not, accept those I 
have named what would be the use of mention- 
ing others ? ” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


359 

^T see no use in it Doctor/’ said Milson, who 
had been paying the closest attention to the 
preacher’s statements. “You have referred to 
authorities enough. I candidly confess to you, I 
was not aware that so much has been written 
about the Bible, especially at so early a time.” 

“Why,” said Dr. Archer, “we have one unbro- 
ken chain of WTiters from the apostles themselves 
down to our day. With all this array of evidence 
I do not see how any thinking man can have a 
doubt as to the genuineness of the New" Testa- 
ment.” 

“It seems impossible,” said Milson, “that the 
New Testament could have been forged. But 
has the charge ever been made that these w^ritings 
w’ere forged ? ” 

“0 yes,” replied Dr. Archer. “There is no 
objection, wdiich can be imagined, that has not 
been urged against the Bible. Men have ex- 
hausted human ingenuity to overthrow the au- 
thority of God’s word.” 

“But, Doctor, in view of the unbroken chain 
of writers from the apostles down to the present^ 
w"hen was there a time at which the Bible could 
have been imposed on the w"orld ? ” 

“There never has been a time,” said Dr, 
Archer, “that it could have been done. But to 
show you how unreasonable men are, it has been 
suggested that several persons about the fourth 
or fifth century agreed to w"rite the Bible, or at 
least the New Testament, in order to give the 
world a better form of religion.” 


360 


FIERY TRIALS. 


‘‘But/’ said Milson, "‘how could they dispose 
of the testimony of the writers on the subject of 
Christianity before that time ? ” 

'‘There is the difficulty/’ replied Dr. Archer. 
“For the impostors could not stop simply with 
writing the New Testament. They must also 
have forged the writings of Porphyry, Julian, 
Origen and all others both of friends and foes. 
It would have been necessary to change history 
itself. Suppose the New Testament had never 
been heard of till the fourth or fifth century, 
what becomes of the history of Nero, for instance? 
How would we account for the persecutions which 
profane history states that the followers of Christ 
endured previously to the fourth century?” 

“I do not think, Doctor, that such an objection 
deserves refutation or notice. It is too trivial.” 

“And yet, it is no more trivial than hundreds 
of other objections which men have urged against 
the Bible. If the advocates of the Christian re- 
ligion were to resort to the use of such means as 
its opponents do, they would soon make the 
Scriptures an object of contempt, and bring 
merited disgrace upon themselves. My opinion 
is that Christian writers have treated all these 
silly objections of their opponents with too much 
respect, and thereby have exalted them into an 
importance of which they are utterly unworthy. 
By their mild and patient replies they have 
furnished grounds for the supposition that these 
trivial objections have some force in them. If 


FIERY TRIALS. 


361 

you had read much on the subject, you would 
haA^e been astonished at the apparent seriousness 
with Avhich sensible men have adduced foolish 
objections — objections Avhich carry their own 
refutation on their face, and at their sophistry.’’ 

^‘Do you think, Doctor, that honest men Avould 
resort to such processes ? ” 

^T think many of them are downright dis- 
honest men. Of course no honest man Avould 
attempt to do violence to Truth. Any honest 
man will accept truth no matter how it may con- 
flict with his desires. But there are others who 
in my opinion are honestly skeptical at first. 
But their prejudices are against the Bible. They 
do not want it to be true. They endeavor to 
strengthen their prejudices, and after a while 
they succeed in making themselves disbelieve 
the truth. This is the way to account for their 
conduct on natural principles. But the Bible 
teaches us another way to account for it. We 
find this passage in the second epistle to the 
Thessalonians : ^And for this cause God shall 
send them strong delusion, that they should 
believe a lie : That they all might be damned 
Avho believed not the truth, but had pleasure in 
unrighteousness.’ Let a man begin to tamper 
Avith his conscience, let him oppose the Bible and 
try to disbelieve it, and my opinion is that God 
himself Avill send delusion upon him, and then to 
his mind a positive lie Avill assume the aspect of 
truth. And then any objection against the Bible, 


FIERY TRIALS. 


362 

no matter how trivial it may be, will appear to 
him worthy of consideration, and he will urge 
it, and contend for it with an air of sincerity, 
and with a solemnity truly amazing.” 

‘‘Doctor,” said Milson thoughtfully, “I was in 
a fair way to become one of these. I have had 
some doubts which I might have strengthened 
by false processes of reasoning. I feel thankful 
that you have put me on the right track of investi- 
gation.” 

“John, God brings good out of what we call 
evil. And as I said a while ago, if your present 
misfortune results in making you a true believer^ 
the time will come when you will thank our 
Heavenly Father that he led you forth from the 
perils of intidelity, even if it was along a thorny 
pathway. It may be that nothing but a heavy 
calamity would have brought you to your senses. 
The old hymn says: 

“Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 

Cut trust Him for His grace, 

Behind a frowning Providence 
lie hides a smiling face.” 

I believe this is your case. So I beg you to 
try to have faith in the Lord.” 

After a pause the pastor continued : 

“John, I must leave you for the present. I 
will call early in the morning, and will bring 
some books which I want you to read.” 

The Doctor then prayed with, the prisoner, and 
took his leave. Again Milson was left to his 
own thoughts. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


363 


CHAPTER XX. 

According to his promise, Dr. Archer called 
at the jail next morning, and found the prisoner 
in better spirits than he had expected. The 
reason, no doubt, was that Milsoii had some other 
subject to occupy his thoughts besides his mis- 
fortune. Without some employment to call his 
attention away from himself, the shock result- 
ing from the first few days’ imprisonment would 
have been much harder to withstand. We are 
told by those who have been incarcerated in dark 
dungeons, and who had sensitiv^e natures, that 
from a lack of occupation, reason can scarcely 
maintain its balance. So it was fortunate for 
Milson that he had something to think about — 
something, too, which was worthy of thought — 
something which is of more importance than any 
temporal thing — his own eternal destiny. He 
was now laying the foundation on which to base 
his hope of everlasting happiness. 

After Dr. Archer had taken his seat, Milson 
at once introduced the subject of his thoughts, 

^^Doctor,” he said, am perfectly satisfied as 
to the genuineness of the New Testament Scrip- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


3^4 

tiires. It seems to me clear enough that they 
were written by the persons to whom they were 
ascribed.” 

“Well, then,” replied the Doctor, “if you ad- 
mit their genuineness, it is not difficult to admit 
their divine origin. Because if the sacred 
writers made statements that were not true, 
there were numbers of persons who could and 
would have pointed out their falsehoods, and 
thus they would have crushed the imposition in 
its very incipiency.” 

“Yes, that appears reasonable,” said Milson. 
“But, Doctor, is there not some short, direct 
way of proving that the sacred writers must 
have told the truth? While I admit that the 
genuineness and authenticity of the Scriptures 
are closely connected, perhaps inseparable, yet, 
the process of reasoning by which that conclu- 
sion is reached, is somehow so abstract, that I 
cannot lay hold of the truth. Somehow I cannot 
grasp it as a living reality — somehow it makes 
no deep impression on my mind. I do not know. 
Doctor, that I have expressed myself in such a 
way as to make you see clearly what my diffi- 
culty is.” 

“I think, John, that I understand your state 
of mind. And now in answer to your question 
as to some short, direct mode of proving the au- 
thenticity of the New Testament, it seems to me 
that there is a way. Judging other people by 
myself, there is one thing which would satisfy 


FIERY TRIALS. 3^5 

my mind, if I had any doubts on the subject.” 

^AVhat is that, Doctor?” 

^Tn my opinion, John, the truth of the whole 
Bible depends upon the truth of the Resurrec- 
tion of Jesus Christ. If he did not rise from the 
dead there is no truth in the New Testament. 
If the sacred writers had made a mistake in re- 
gard to some other events, it would not affect the 
general truth of the Christian religion. For in- 
stance we might say they were mistaken when 
they stated that he changed water into wine, or 
walked on the waves of the sea — and such mis- 
takes would not destroy the plan of salvation. 
But if they were mistaken about our Lord’s ris- 
ing from the grave —then all is lost. We are 
left without one ray of hope, and ^we are of all 
men most miserable.’ But if he did rise then he 
must have been what he claimed to be. So I 
think the whole discussion in regard to Christi- 
anity can be narrowed down to just this one 
event. This was the ^sign’ which he himself 
gave. So if the resurrection occurred, it at once 
settles the question of his Divinity beyond all 
controversy. Do you not see clearly that if the 
Infidel were to admit that Christ rose from the 
grave, he would at once give up the whole ques- 
tion.” 

^‘Yes, sir. That is plain-enough. So, Doctor, 
if you will have the kindness to show me how 
that fact can be established, I do not see what 
more proof of the divine origin of the Christian 
religion I could demand.” 


366 


FIERY TRIALS. 


^AVell,” said the Doctor, you will accept 
logical proof, I think I can satisfy you in a few 
moments.” 

Then after a short pause the kind-hearted 
preacher began. 

^‘You remember that on yesterday Ave proA^ed 
that eA^en Infidels doAvn to the fourth century did 
not deny 'that Christ performed miracles. They 
did not dispute the leading facts of his life. All 
parties, both friends and foes, agree that he suf- 
fered death on the Cross. Noav, Christians affirm 
that Jesus rose from the tomb on the third day 
after his death ; Infidels and JeAvs deny it. The 
question at issue is Ayhether Christ actually came 
to life, or Avhether the body merely disappeared 
in some mysterious manner AAdiich no one could 
explain. It is evident that on the third day the 
corpse was missing. The Roman soldiers that 
guarded the sepulcher Avere persuaded to say, or 
at least they did say, that Avhile they slept the 
disciples came and stole aAvay the corpse.” 

^Tf they Avere asleep,” asked Milson, ^‘hoAv 
could they affirm that the disciples did it?” 

^‘That is the question,” replied Dr. Archer. 
^^For according to their oAvn statement they Avere 
competent to testify to the fact that they all 
Avent to sleep, and Avhen they aAvoke the body 
Avas gone. If they Avere not all asleep then the 
question arises Avhy they did not discharge their 
duty and arrest the disciples. No court that 
eA^er met on this earth Avould alloAV a Avitness to 


FIERY TRIALS. 367 

state upon his personal knowledge what transpired, 
while he was asleep. But the nextquestion is how 
came these Roman guards to be sleeping on their 
post ? It was a serious thing for a Roman sol- 
dier to be guilty of such an offense; and here ac- 
cording to their own account was the whole 
guard, after being charged with the utmost strict- 
ness to watch the sepulcher, asleep on their post. 
Why were they not punished for their offence as 
their military rules required ? It would not do 
to tell before any respectable court, that ah en- 
tire Roman guard was so careless and indifferent 
as to go to sleep, and that a few, timid disciples 
deliberately walked among them, broke the seal 
of the mighty Roman empire, leisurely replaced 
the grave clothes, and then bore the body away. 
The disciples had all fled, and were hiding in 
shame and confusion. When Christ breathed out 
his life on the Cross, his followers never expected 
to see him again. All their hopes of a great 
temporal kingdom were suddenly dashed to the 
ground. After the resurrection of the Saviour, 
the great caution which they manifested to pre- 
vent imposition — the astonishment which they 
exhibited at the appearance of the crucified Re- 
deemer, prove clearly that they did not expect 
any resurrection. It is not at all probable that, 
under such circumstances, they would all at 
once become so bold as to ^bid defiance to a Ro- 
man guard. Besides all sensible men are promp- 
ted to action by motives. Now what could pos- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


368 

sibly have induced the disciples to steal the body 
and hide it in such a.Avay that it could never be 
found? They must have had some object in 
view to act thus. What could it have been? If 
the Lord did not come to life as he had predict- 
ed, then he was an impostor ; and if he was, 
what could His followers gain by giving counte- 
nance to such a Avicked imposture ? They could 
make no fortune by it ; but on the contrary, they 
would encounter poverty, violent opposition, and 
fiery persecution everywhere. Christ’s religion 
Avas opposed to covetousness,and required men not 
to place their affections upon worldly Avealth and 
honors. It demanded self-denial, and making 
Avar upon the natural passions of the heart. If 
then its founder Avas an impostor, AA^hy should 
the disciples Avish to shield His memory from in- 
famy, Avhen they Avould have nothing to gain, and 
everything to lose by it? It is not natural for 
men to honor one Avhom they believe to be an 
impostor; but on the other hand it is natural for 
them to execrate his memory for having attempt- 
ed to dupe them. The strongest proof that the 
disciples Avere not endeavoring to practice a de- 
ception is that they faced death in every con- 
ceivable shape and form in attestation of Avhat 
they had affirmed. Some of them Avere crucified; 
some Avere torn into bloody fragments by wild 
beasts, and others Avere burnt to ashes at the 
stake.” 

^^But all that. Doctor,” said Milson, ^^does not 


FIERY TRIALS. 


369 

prove that Christ rose from the tomb. Ills dis- 
ciples might have submitted to death, if he had 
not risen.” 

^^Of course, John, their willingness to die and 
their actually dying, does not prove the resur- 
rection of Jesus; but it does prove that they 
themselves believed that he rose; therefore, 
they did not regard Him as an impostor ; and it 
proves that they were no impostors themselves. 
It is true that men will die in support of an er- 
roneous principle, which they regard as true ; 
but no man will become a martyr to sustain a 
falsehood, which he knows to be such. History 
has never furnished such an instance as that yet. 
Infidels, therefore, though they may charge the 
disciples with laboring under mental hallucina- 
tion, cannot, with any shadow of reason, charge 
them with being impostors. It is evident that 
they believed that Jesus rose from the dead, 
whether he did or not.” 

see the force of your argument, and I beg 
your pardon for having interrupted you,” re- 
marked Milson. 

will take it as a favor, John, if you will in- 
terrupt me whenever you think my arguments 
are not clear. You are the whole of my audi- 
ence now, and I want you to understand me. 
My dear boy, I feel as much interest in my pres- 
ent little audience, as I would, if there were five 
hundred people before me. I am talking now for 
your exclusive benefit. So interrupt me, just 
when you think necessary.” 


370 FIERY TRIALS. 

Milson thanked him, and then the Doctor con- 
tinued. 

think it is clear then that the disciples Avere 
not impostors. But even supposing that some of 
them were deceivers, can Ave believe that among 
the thousands of our Lord’s folloAvers there Avas 
notone honest man? If thousands of them kneAv 
that the body had been hidden is it not reasona- 
ble to suppose that some of them had honesty 
enough to expose the vile falsehood ? And yet 
it does not appear that a single one of them ever 
intimated that the body Avas stolen and hidden 
aAvay.” 

‘^But suppose, Doctor that only a feAv of the 
disciples Avere privy to the imposture ?” 

^^Well,” said the Doctor, ^‘hoAv could this fcAv 
prove to the rest the truth of AA^hat they asserted ? 
Of course if any number of them had affirmed 
that they had seen Christ after his death, the 
rest Avould have to be convinced that it was true. 
Would they have taken the mere Avord of a feAV 
men Avithout any further proof? Such a sup- 
position is entirely unreasonable. But even al- 
loAving that all the disciples connived at the 
imposture, hoAv could they convince the Gentiles 
that Jesus actually rose from the dead, if it Avas 
really a falsehood ? Here is one of the strangest 
spectacles, and at the same time, one of the 
strongest proofs of our Lord’s Resurrection that 
history presents. The disciples began to travel 
through the Avorld preaching the Gospel to all 


FIERY TRIALS. 371 

nations, in accordance with their instructions 
from the Master. They were men of no influ- 
ence — despised at home and treated as outcasts 
and traitors. They were illiterate and poor — 
having emerged from the humblest walks of life. 
They knew none of the arts of rhetoric, logic, and 
eloquence. Now how were they to prove to the 
Gentiles that Christ had risen from the tomb ? 
The Gentiles were devotedly attached to their 
own system of religion which had been handed 
from generation to generation, for ages. Of 
course they would not abandon their time-honored 
system of idolatry for another system that de- 
manded so much self-denial, without the most 
satisfactory evidence of the truth of what the 
disciples preached. There was only one way b}^ 
which they could establish what they published; 
and that was the performance of miracles. But 
how could they heal the sick and cause the lame 
to walk, and achieve other wonderful things, 
if Christ was still in the grave — Christ by whose 
power and in whose name they professed to work 
these miracles. It is evident that if our Lord 
was nothing more than a mere man, the great 
God of the universe would not have conferred up- 
on his followers the power to control the laws of 
nature to even a limited extent, by which they 
could deceive mankind with a wicked imposture. 
It is plain then that God approved the work of 
the disciples. Indeed it was God’s own work ; 
for the Holy Spirit opened the eyes of the super- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


37 ^ 

stitious Gentiles, enlighted their minds, and thus 
enabled them to lay hold of the truth ; and with- 
out this influence I do not think the Gentiles 
could have been converted into Christians by the 
performance of miracles. But at any rate they 
were satisfied; and it seems the disciples had no 
great difficulty in persuading nations to abandon 
their own religion and to espouse the cause of 
the despised Nazarene. The truth did spread 
like wild-fire, notwithstanding the assertions of 
Infidels. Philosophers gladly embraced the sub- 
lime truths which they heard fall from the lips 
of humble fishermen. Before the bright blaze 
of the Gospel, heathen Mythology began to 
fade away like a morning mist. The temples of 
Jupiter, Diana and others were abandoned, and 
everywhere the incense of true righteousness 
smoked to the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.'’ 

^^Doctor,” interrupted Milson, ‘fis there any 
profane history to corroborate the statements 
Avhich you have just made? It seems to me 
that there ought to be some mention of these 
wonderful events by other persons besides the 
sacred writers.” 

^^So there is,” replied Dr. Archer, ^^and in 
proof of what I have stated I will read a short 
extract from a letter written by Pliny to the Em- 
peror Trajan. Here is the book containing it,” 
the preacher said, taking up a book which he had 
brought. ^Tliny, you know, was born only about 
twenty-eight years after the crucifixion of our 


FIERY TRIALS. 


373 

Saviour, and was Pro-pretor of Bithinia in the 
year 100, A. D., when the Christians were most 
dreadfully persecuted. Now in this letter he 
says ; ^Nor has the contagion of this superstition 
[speaking of the Christian religion which he calls 
a superstition] seized cities only, but the lesser 
towns also, and the open country. Nevertheless 
it seems to me that it may be restrained and cor- 
rected. It is certain that the temples which were 
almost forsaken, begin to be more frequented ; 
and the sacred solemnities, after a long intermis- 
sion, are revived. Victims are likewise every- 
where bought up, whereas for some time there 
were few purchasers.’ , Now,” continued Dr. 
Archer, ^^such is the testimony of Pliny — that 
cannot be disputed. We are told by him that 
the religion of the Romans which had been in 
high repute for centuries, was, in a few years 
after the death of Christ, almost rooted out by 
the story of the cross, and which could be re- 
vived only by a violent and bitter persecution of 
the Christians. Now, how can we account for 
the rapid spread of Christianity in the first cen- 
tury, unless we assume that the New Testament 
relates the whole truth in regard to Christ ? The 
disciples proclaimed everywhere with boldness 
that Jesus had been crucified, and on the third 
day rose from the tomb ; Jind to prove what they 
affirmed they must have wrought miracles, and 
the Holy Spirit then moved upon the hearts and 
consciences of men, and the consequence was 


FIERY TRIALS. 


374 

that multitudes of both Jews and Gentiles were 
convinced of the truth of the Saviour’s resurrec- 
tion.” 

said Milson, ^^do not infidels deny the 
facts which you have stated ? ” 

‘^Yes ; a few persons in every age of the world 
have been found, who have just contradicted 
all history on this subject, giving no other reason 
for their disbelief than that the events related by 
the disciples are contrary to experience and ob- 
servation. Mr. Hume took the bold position 
that no amount of human testimony was sufficient 
to establish the fact that a miracle had ever been 
performed. But he is utterly unreasonable. 
Most Infidels have too much sense to endorse 
any such preposterous theory as that. They ad- 
mit, with some modifications, the general facts 
contained in the New Testament ; but they as- 
sume that the followers of Christ were deceived 
as to his resurrection from the dead. From the 
fact' that people even now-a-days sometimes im- 
agine they have seen a ^ghost,’ these Infidels 
argue that the friends of Jesus saw a phantom, 
or thought they did, and honestly reported that 
they had really seen the Saviour after his death. 
But fortunately we are secured against the pos- 
sibility of Christ’s resurrection having been a 
mere fancy, by, it seems to me, an amount of 
evidence too great to be disputed or doubted. 
It is admitted that if Jesus had made his ap- 
pearance under cover of darkness, it is possible 


FIERY TRIALS. 


375 

that his friends might have been deluded. At 
night some people might mistake a shadow, or 
some other object for an apparition. But the 
history shows that Christ went forth in broad open 
daylight, and did not simply flash before the eyes 
of his disciples, leaving them in doubt as to 
whether they had seen anything or not; but he 
deliberately moved about among them, and talked 
with them, and ate with them. He appeared not 
simply to one or two, but even to five hundred at 
once. Some of them were slow to believe that he 
had come fortji from the grave. The language of 
Thomas was ‘except I shall see in his hands the 
print of the nails, and put my finger in the print 
of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I 
will not believe.’ But when Thomas saw Him, 
he was so thoroughly convinced that he cried out 
‘my Lord and my God.’ When Mary Magda- 
lene went back and told some of the disciples 
that she had seen the risen Saviour, Luke tells 
us, ‘and they, when they had heard that He was 
alive and had been seen of her, believed not.’ 
We read again that, "after that He appeared unto 
two of them in another form, as they walked and 
went into the country. And they went and told 
it to the residue; neither believed they them.’ 
Why, it seems that the disciples could not be- 
lieve the reports of one another till each had 
been favored with a sight of the Saviour’s risen 
body. From the history, it would appear that 
the disciples were men who could not be easily 


FIERY TRIALS. 


376 

imposed upon. They were not at all credulous ; 
they would not believe on mere hearsay. They 
were not convinced till they had met the Lord 
face to face^ put their hands on him, and talked 
with him. He stayed with them in the daytime 
for hours at once. Now then under such circum- 
stances how could so many persons be deceived?” 

/^But, Doctor,” said Milson, ^Svhy did not 
Christ appear to his enemies ?” 

^Tnfidels have asked that question too,” said 
Dr. Archer. ^^They say that the Saviour ought 
to have boldly exhibited himself to those who 
condemned him, and put him to death. They 
affirm that if he had had all the inhabitants of 
Jerusalem as witnesses to the truth of his resur- 
rection, there would be little room for doubt. 
This is simply demanding more evidence than has 
been given — not stronger, but more.. But even 
granting that our Lord had appeared to the whole 
nation of the Jews, Infidels wmuld have the very 
same objections that they now urge. Because 
the Jews would either have admitted the claims 
of Christ as the Messiah, or they would have re- 
jected him. If then all had acknowledged him as 
their Spiritual king, and as God, Infidels would 
prefer the very charge against the entire nation, 
which they now urge against the disciples. They ' 
would say that the Jews were a nation of 
fanatics — wild dreamers — or consummate hypo- 
crites. If these unbelievers would not admit the 
testimony of five hundred persons, they would not 


FIERY TRIALS. 


377 


receive that of five thousand. As a proof of 
what I have asserted, why do they not admit the 
divine authenticity of the Old Testament. The 
Jews of all ages have received this book as a 
revelation from God. There have been mil- 
lions of witnesses from the time of Moses clear 
down to the present day, all testifying to the di- 
vine origin of the Old Testament ; and yet, so 
far from believing, some Infidels assert that 
Moses was an impostor, and some affirm that 
the whole history is a fable, and others go so far 
as to say that there never was any such nation 
as the ancient Hebrews. Now here is the very 
evidence they require to sustain facts : and still 
they do not hesitate to deny the facts. If they 
vmuld admit that the Old Testament is of divine 
origin because the whole Jewish nation recogniz- 
ed it as of divine origin, then we might concede 
their right to demand the same kind of testimony 
to establish the truth of the Saviour’s resurrec- 
tion.” 

^‘Well,” said Milson, ^‘would you admit the 
right of the Jews to require this sort of evidence?” 

^^No,” replied Dr. Archer. ^^Because with a 
Jew I should pursue a different line of argument. 
I should plant myself on the Scriptures which he 
professes to believe. But I am speaking of 
Infidels that are not Jews. What would be the 
use to furnish the evidence which they demand 
when they show by their rejection of the Old 
Testament that they would not receive* our testi- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


378 

mony. If they would throw it aside in the one 
case they would do so in the other. But suppose 
Christ had shown himself after his death to all 
his enemies, the probability is they would still 
have rejected him. They were so blinded, and 
so determined to have none but a temporal king ; 
and they seem to have been so thoroughly con- 
vinced that the prophecies referred to the kind 
of Messiah they expected, and Jesus was so 
different from the character for whom they were 
looking, it is almost certain that they would not 
have recognized him as the Son of God, if 
they had seen him with their own eyes. Our 
Saviour manifested great wisdom in not appear- 
ing to them. Because, If he had done so they 
would have rejected him, in spite of the evidence 
of their own senses ; and then the opposers of 
the Christian religion might throw us into per- 
plexity and confusion, by adducing the fact that 
only a few of the immence multitudes that saw 
Christ after his reported resurrection, believed 
there was any reality in it. As the case now is 
the evidence is sufficient. Profane authors in- 
directly confirm the statements of the sacred 
writers. Christ, before his ascension, said : ^And 
these signs shall follow them that believe : in 
my name shall they cast out devils ; they shall 
speak with new tongues. They shall take up 
serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing it 
shall not hurt them : they shall lay hands on the 
sick, and they ^shall recover,’ And then it is 


FIERY TRIALS. 


379 


added ^They went forth everywhere and preached, 
the Lord working with them and confirming the 
word with signs following.’ The heathen writer 
Pliny in the letter to Trajan, a part of which I 
read a few moments since, confirms this state- 
ment, not, of course, by mentioning the wonder- 
ful things that were done — not by telling that 
devils were cast out, and that the sick were re- 
stored to health; but he confirms it by mention- 
ing the effects which could have resulted only 
from the performance of miracles. He tells us 
that the temples erected in honor of the gods of 
Mythology were at one time almost entirely 
abandoned. Mighty multitudes of heathens were 
convinced that Jesus rose from the dead, not by 
the simple affirmation of the disciples, but were 
convinced by the miracles that were wrought in 
the name of Jesus Christ. Now common sense 
ought to teach anyone that if the Saviour did 
not rise from the dead, it was impossible to per- 
form miracles in his name ; for he was nothing 
more than a mere man, and had no more power 
than any other dead Jew. If the apostles had 
recognized Moses as God, and tried to heal the 
sick in his name, there can be no sort of doubt 
that Jehovah would have frowned upon the 
attempt, and they would have been powerless. 
The conclusion, therefore, appears to me irresist- 
ible, unavoidable, that the Lord Jesus Christ on 
the third day after his crucifixion rose in triumph 
from the sepulcher of Joseph, and if so the 


FIERY TRIALS. 


380 

Divine Authenticity of both the Old and New 
Testaments is established beyond all reasonable 
doubt. Of course in this brief talk between us 
twOj I could give only the general outlines of the 
argument; but if you can point out any error or 
fallacy in it I would be glad if you would do so ; 
or if any objection occurs to you that I have not 
named/ please mention it.” 

^‘There is no flaw in your argument, Doctor, 
that I can perceive.” 

‘‘What is to hinder you then from becoming a 
Christian at once ? ” 

“I shall make the effort,” said Milson. 

“All the effort you have to make,” replied the 
preacher, “is to cast yourself upon Christ. That, 
John, is done by faith and prayer. Do not think 
you can get rid of your skepticism by reasoning 
yourself out of it. Reason only lays the foun- 
dation for your faith. But, John, I know how it 
is with a skeptical man. My opinion is that you 
will have to study the evidences of Christianity. 
What I have said may not be sufficient to stir 
you up to action. The impression upon your 
mind must be intensified. So I have brought 
you some books to read, which are exhaustive 
discussions of the subject.” 

“I will be glad to read them, Doctor.” 

“If you are not satisfied with the brief proof 
which I have adduced, you will find in these 
books an elaborate discussion of every objection 
that Infidels have ever brought forward. I want 


FIERY TRIALS. 381 

to relate a circumstance in regard to two of these 
writers — Lord Lyttleton and Gilbert West. 
They agreed each to write a treatise against the 
Christian religion. Lyttleton chose for his sub- 
ject the conversion of Paul ; and West chose the 
resurrection of Christ. When they met to com- 
pare their work, to their mutual astonishment 
and joy, both had become Christians. So, West 
wrote one of the best treatise we have on the 
Resurrection of Jesus. You must read it by all 
means. Then I have brought you the first vol- 
ume of Horne’s Introduction, and Watson’s Apol- 
ogy, Jews’ Letters to Voltaire, Paley’s Evidences, 
Leslie’s Short Method of Deists, and Soame 
Jenyri’s Evidences. I have other works on the 
subject, but you will find these sufficient. Study 
them., John ; weigh well their arguments, and I 
think you will come forth from the investigation 
without a doubt.” 

^^Really, Doctor,” said Milson, have very 
little, if any doubt. But these works will deepen 
the impression on my mind ; and as I have noth- 
ing else to do, I will take great pleasure in read- 
ing them. I shall also try to cast myself on 
Christ.” 

^^This is the one thing you have to do — trust 
Jesus— give him your heart. We read in the 
Scriptures that ^with the heart man believeth 
unto righteousness. Pray for a greater out- 
pouring of the Holy Spirit; for it is the spirit 
that renews the heart.” 


382 


FIERY TRIALS. 


After some farther consideration Ur. Archer 
prayed with the prisoner and then took his leave. 


CHAPTER XXL 

There were no startling developments in the 
history of any of the parties Avith Avhom our story 
is concerned^ for several Aveeks before the trial 
of Milson by the Circuit Court. The prisoner 
himself Avas busily employed in reading and 
studying the Avorks on the Evidences of Christi- 
anity, Avhich Ur. x\rcher had lent him. By pur- 
suing this course every lingering doubt vanished, 
and his belief Avas firm and fixed. With his log- 
ical mind he comprehended clearly Avhat Avas to 
be done. The Holy Spirit deals with people 
according to their mental peculiarities. Miss 
Junie Paine had, it seems, very little trouble in 
regard to the External Evidences of the Chris- 
tian religion. The Internal Evidence Avas suffi- 
cient for her. She appeared to perceive the 
truth at once ; and required no long process of 
investigation. But Milson Avas differently con- 
stituted. His profession probably made it nec- 
essary that he should have full historical proof 
before he could grasp the truth. And yet his 


FIERY TRIALS. 383 

faith was no better and no firmer than that of 
Junie Paine; but it had been reached by differ- 
ent processes. Infidels make much sport of what 
they are pleased to denominate ‘‘‘blind faith 
and they assert that most Christians become such 
from the force of the example of their fathers and 
mothers. But this faith, since it leads one to 
Heaven is just as good, as any. That person is 
to be almost envied Avho can with unquestioning 
faith follow in the footsteps of godly parents. 
Infidels may call this “blind faith,” if they will. 
Who cares ? They themselves will admit that the 
religion of Jesus is the only one that is at all 
rational ; it is the only one that holds out even 
the shadow of hope. Blessed then is the person 
who can lay hold of Christian truth, simply from 
a perception of its internal excellence. It leads 
to the very same results as that faith which 
grows out of the most laborious investigation of 
historical proofs. It is far from indicating weak- 
ness of mind or “blind credulity,” as has been 
charged. On the contrary, it is an indication of 
(j^Liickness of mind. These persons, who appear 
to Infidels to be so credulous, perceive at once 
in the Bible the marks of truth. Thousands of 
men of gigantic intellects have just this sort of 
faith ; and happy are they ! 

We need not recount Milson’s spiritual trials 
and struggles in the jail. It is sufficient to say 
that he emerged from the crucible a true child of 
God. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


384 

Miss Jiinie Paine toiled on almost broken- 
hearted. The consolations of religion could 
scarcely sustain her under such a fiery trial as 
that to which she was now subjected. The 
thought was soul-harrowing that the one around 
whom all her affections clung lay bleaching in a 
felon’s cell. She could not take the interest 
which she desired, and which was necessary in 
the performance of her school duties. Several 
times she had thought of resigning her position, 
and probably would have done so but for the 
absolute necessity of supporting herself. She 
however kept up a correspondence with Milson — 
which was a source of mutual pleasure and com- 
fort. 

But at last the day for MilsoiTs trial by the 
Circuit Court arrived, and his destiny would 
soon be decided. The prisoner was brought 
forth from the jail, looking pale, but calm and 
resigned. The court-room was crowded. Those 
who were acquainted with Milson. did not, and 
could not believe that he was guilty. They were 
confirmed in their opinions of his innocence when 
they gazed upon his pale features. There were 
no marks of a murderer in that honest, open face. 
Hence, there was wide-spread sympathy for him. 

At length all the preliminary arrangements 
having been made, the jury was impanelled, and 
the trial began. Bertram had been defeated b}" 
a small majority in the election for District Attor_ 
ney. But it so happened that the gentleman 


FIERY TRIALS. 


385 

who had been elected, was unable, owing to sick- 
ness, to attend this term of court, and Bertram 
was appointed to fill his place. The indictment 
was read by Bertram, and then began the ex- 
amination of witnesses. The defence had only 
one witness — the man from whom Milson had 
collected the five hundred dollars. The prosecu- 
tion introduced two witnesses — the two hunters 
that had arrested the prisoner. They testified to 
the facts with which our reader is acquainted ; 
and their testimony seemed to be conclusive. Mr. 
Barton cross-examined the two witnesses Avith 
the most rigid scrutiny, but the testimony could 
not be shaken. He could elicit nothing from the 
hunters except the stubborn facts Avhich the}^ 
had related. The examination of the witnesses 
was soon finished, and then the pleading com- 
menced. For one time in his legal practice Mr. 
Barton appeared to be embarrassed. It seemed 
that he had no grounds upon which to make a 
speech. The testimony of his own witness 
amounted to almost nothing, while that of the 
hunters in a legal point of view was overwhelm- 
ing. Bnt he felt that he must do everything in 
his power for the unfortunate prisoner. 

In his speech Mr. Barton dilated on the nature 
of circumstantial evidence. lie admitted that 
often it Avas to be relied on; but in many cases 
it is doubtful, and should be received Avith ex- 
treme caution. 

^‘Circumstances,” said lie, ‘^sometimes by 


FIERY TRIALS. 


3B6 

strange and unfortunate coincidences do point to 
the wrong man. There is often a broken link; 
it may appear to be a link of very little import- 
ance ; and yet of sufficient magnitude to turn 
the direction of circumstances away from the 
real criminal, and to fasten the hook to some inno- 
cent man. I have not the slightest doubt that 
the case now before us is an illustration of the 
manner in which the chain of circumstances has 
somehow missed the guilty party, and seized 
upon a man who is incapable of such a crime as 
that with which he is charged. These two wit- 
nesses, who seem to be honest men, did not see 
Milson fire any pistol. The bloody deed could 
have been committed by some other person, the 
trunks could have been broken open and searched, 
and the actual murderer could have taken the 
horses from the vehicle, and made his escape 
before Milson arrived on the spot, as he was fol- 
lowing that deer.” 

At this Bertram interposed an objection. 

“Mr. Barton,” he said, “is commenting on 
evidence which is not before the court. It has 
not been proved, and no attempt has been made 
to prove that the prisoner 'was following a deer. 
This is a mere street rumor, which has grown out 
of the prisoner’s own statements. Let Mr. Bar- 
ton establish the fact that there was a deer in 
the case, and then he can comment as much as 
he may please on the circumstance. But I must 
insist that he confine himself to the testimony 
that is before the court.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


387 

^T admit,” replied Mr. Barton, ‘That imfortii- 
mitely we have not been able to establish that 
fact. But this is a case of circumstantial evi- 
dence, and I therefore have the right to make a 
supposition.” 

‘^You have no right,” interrupted Bertram, “to 
make a supposition and then comment on it as if 
it actually constituted a part of the testimony 
before the court. That is certainly contrary to 
all the rules of pleading.” 

“I am perfectly a\vare of that,” replied Mr. 
Barton. “Grentlenien of the jury, I suppose, if 
it is lawful to make any sort of supposition, that 
Mr. Bertram has never before acted in the 
capacity of prosecuting Attorney ; hence he is 
disposed to be overzealous. But he must not 
forget that the honorable and important position 
which he now occupies does not require at his 
hand works of supererrogation. If he will only 
give me' time I will make clear the point that I 
have in my mind. I am not manufacturing evi- 
dence as he intimates, nor taking street rumors 
as evidence, though popular belief is there was 
a deer in the case. Now, I contend that I have 
the right to take even popular belief, and frame 
a theory upon it which will establish the inno- 
cence of the prisoner at the bar. The law in 
regard to circumstantial evidence is this : If you 
can make any other reasonable hypothesis than 
that Milson murdered the poor peddler, there is 
good ground to doubt his guilt. I can make this 


FIERY TRIALS. 


388 

hypothesis : Milsoii was riding along the high- 
way, and a deer ran across the road, he fired at 
it, and wounded it, and then followed it. Any 
of us would do that very thing. Milson then 
came to the spot where the awful tragedy had 
been enacted already. Now^ what would be more 
natural to any man with a particle of humanity 
in his breast than to dismount and go to the 
assistance of a man in distress ? That hypothesis 
can be made, and it is reasonable. Mr. Bertram 
will say the hypothesis is without any foundation, 
because we have not shown that Milson was fol- 
lowing a wounded deer, and because no trace of 
a deer has ever yet been discovered. I do not 
contend of course that that is in evidence before 
the court; but you may eliminate the deer en- 
tirely from the supposition. Milson was not seen 
by the witnesses before the murder was com- 
mitted. They know not when he came. They 
only saw him as he was leaving the spot. You 
can therefore reasonably suppose that some one 
else committed the deed before his arrival on the 
spot — some one whom I am bound to believe will 
yet be apprehended and brought to justice. 
There is a just and righteous God who rules in 
the alfairs of men, and who will not suffer the 
guilty to escape punishment in this world. There 
is no proof, gentlemen of the jury, that 
Milson committed this foul deed. If you find 
him guilty, it will be only upon an inference. 
Y'ou suppose him to be the murderer because he 


FIERY TRIALS. 


3S9 

was seen leaving the spot. There is a broken 
link in the chain, which invalidates the hypothe- 
sis that ]\Iilson committed the deed. Now, gen- 
tlemen, I desire to show you, on the very best 
authority, how dangerous circumstantial evi- 
dence sometimes is. It has led in some in- 
stances to disastrous consequences, which were 
deeply regretted, when it was too late to repair 
the injury done to innocent parties.” 

Mr. Barton then for about an hour read ex- 
tracts on this point. After which he continued : 

^•Gentlemen of the jury, there is another con- 
sideration, which must not be overlooked. What 
motive could have prompted Milson to murder 
that poor peddler? Sane men are always actu- 
ated by motives. Milson could not have been 
driven to jt by the pressure of poverty. He 
has a sufficiency of this world’s goods to enable 
him to live in comfort. Did he stain his hands 
with human blood for the sake of the peddler’s 
horses? He never got them. Those horses have 
not been heard of from that day to this. What 
became of them ? Evidently they were gone 
before Milson arrived on the spot. Had it not 
been for the shower of rain that fell in a little 
time after the murder was committed, those 
horses as well as the deer could have been 
tracked, and then there is no doubt that we 
would have gotten some clue to the real murder- 
ers. It is in proof that Milson asked Mr. Bonds 
to search for the deer. These witnesses — the 


FIERY TRIALS. 


390 

two hunters — ought to have done that them- 
selves. T3ut no matter now. It was not, then, 
for the horses that Milson would have murdered 
the peddler. Was it for the sake of two or three 
common silver watches? These were all that 
were found on the prisoner's person. Now, do 
you suppose that the peddler had only two or 
three common silver watches ? What became of 
his money? Not a cent of it was found on the 
prisoner. It is clear to my mind that the ped- 
dler was murdered and robbed before Milson 
reached the spot. When he got there the. horses 
were gone, the watches were gone, the money 
was gone. If Milson had been seen by the two 
hunters making off with the horses, watches and 
money, the testimony against him would have 
been too strong to admit of denial. But such 
was not the case. The prospect of gain was cer- 
tainly not sufficient to induce a man in Milson's 
circumstances to commit such a foul and das- 
tardly murder. 

^‘Gentlemen of the jury,” continued Mr. Bar- 
ton, ‘Mohn Milson has been raised in this com- 
munity. He was born here ; and he has ever 
borne an irreproachable character. All the citi- 
zens of this place will bear testimony to the fact 
that he has ever conducted himself as an upright 
gentleman. Even in his boyhood he was remark- 
able for his morality. It is not possible, then, 
that a man of his character and in his circum- 
stances would have committed this awful crime. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


391 


If he had ever been a bad boy ; if he had ever 
before been arraigned before the courts charged 
with any offence, or violation of the laws, there 
might be stronger grounds for the suspicion of 
guilt. Men, as is proved by observation, do not 
plunge suddenly into crime. They are led along 
gradually in the path of vice, committing little 
offences, each becoming more aggravated and 
more daring, till after awhile they shrink not 
from the most heinous crimes known to the law. 
All history proves this to be a fact. It requires 
training to make robbers and murderers. This 
training must begin in early life. For instance, 
a boy commences his career by robbing birds' 
nests, and practicing cruelty upon animals ; he 
goes fishing and hunting on the Sabbath-day; he 
is disobedient to his parents. These seem to be 
very small offences to him; but they are the 
foundation on w^hich he builds the superstructure 
of his character. He advances a step or two in 
his career of vice and shame, by telling little 
falsehoods, and committing small thefts, it may 
be at home. As soon as he is old enough he 
begins to cheat those with whom he has dealings; 
and thus step by step, inch by inch, he moves 
along in the path of degradation, infamy and 
crime till almost every vestige of a conscience is 
eradicated from his breast. Then he is ripe and 
ready for any deed of shame ; and when an op- 
portunity presents itself that appeals to his cov- 
etousness, he imbrues his hand in the blood of a 


392 


FIERY TRIALS. 


fellow-being for the sake of a little gold. I 
challenge the world to find a single instance on 
record in which a man in Milson’s circumstances, 
and free from any pecuniary pressure — a man of 
Milson s moral character, committed such a crime 
as that with which he is now charged. I would 
sooner suspect that boy/’ continued Mr. Barton, 
pointing at Rommie Paine who was sitting near 
Bertram watching the proceedings with the most 
intense interest, and who was struck with Mr. 
Barton’s description of the progress of a bad boy, 
from the fact that it was somewhat similar to his 
own history. “I would sooner suspect that boy 
under the guidance of some older head, of com- 
mitting that murder than this prisoner.” 

Rommie suddenly started in such a way as to 
attract the attention of Dr. Archer who looked 
at him with such a searching gaze that Rommie 
almost cowered under it. Mr. Barton paused in 
his speech and was also looking at the boy with 
his keen, black eyes. His manner soon drew the 
attention of all present, to Rommie, who began 
to turn a little pale under this ordeal to which he 
was suddenly subjected. There was breathless 
suspense. What did this mean ? Suddenly Ber- 
tram sprang to his feet : 

‘Tf the court please,” he said, should like 
to inquire what sort of farce this is. Has Mr. 
Barton just quit the case and gone to playing 
with children?” 

‘T merely referred to the boy,” said Mr. Bar- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


393 


ton deliberately and calmly, ^‘by way of illustra- 
tion ; but his conduct was so remarkable that it 
attracted my attention.” 

^‘This boy is not on trial before the court,” ex- 
claimed Bertram, with some show of anger. ‘Tt 
seems that you have suddenly turned detective 
and are hunting after the criminal in the court- 
room. 1 insist that you either proceed with your 
argument or resign the floor.” 

Mr. Barton without seeming to notice Ber- 
tram’s last remark then went on with his speech. 
We regret that we have not space to give it in 
full. But from the preceding extracts the read- 
er can easily perceive what was the line of his 
argument. He occupied the time of the court 
about two hours, discussing every circumstance 
which was the least favorable to Milson’s case. 
No one could have done better. 

When he had concluded Bertram then rose to 
address the jury ; and this was to close the case. 
We can only give some brief extracts from his 
speech. Among other things he said : 

have no personal interest in this case, gen- 
tlemen of the jury. Mr. Barton has accused me 
of displaying unwarrantable zeal. ^But the only 
object I have in view is to secure justice. If I 
would allow myself to be controlled by my sym- 
pathies, these, gentlemen, would lean toward the 
prisoner, with whom I have been on terms of in- 
timate friendship. No one was more surprised 
and shocked than I was. When I first heard the 


FIERY TRIALS. 


394 

news of his arrest for this crime, I could not be- 
lieve that John Milson was guilty ; and I in- 
dulged the hope that there was some mistake, 
and that he would be able to show clearly that 
his hands were not stained with that peddler’s 
blood. But, gentlemen, you must not suffer your 
sympathies to override your reason and judg- 
ment. You cannot trample the law under foot 
and ignore the clearest kind of testimony, be- 
cause the prisoner, up to the time of the com- 
mission of the crime, has stood high in the com- 
munity. When the evidence is clear and con- 
clusive, we cannot afford to let guilty persons 
escape the punishment that stern justice de- 
mands, because they have borne the character of 
honest citizens and gentlemen.” 

^‘Mr. Barton, by the aid of his brilliant, fertile 
imagination has advanced for your consideration 
a beautiful theory, based altogether upon suppo- 
sitions, that amount to nothing in the face of 
stubborn facts. Y'ou remember that he spoke of 
the prisoner pursuing a wounded deer. Has any 
witness testified to such a fact. Why, there is 
not a particle of evidence to sustain such an as- 
sertion ; and yet several times in his long speech 
he referred to that groundless hypothesis as an 
actual occurrence.” 

^‘Yes,” suddenly cried Dr. Archer, was an 
actual occurrence. I have not the slightest doubt 
of it.” 

^‘Gentlemen of the jury,” said Bertram, with a 


FIERY TRIALS. 


395 


sneer, ^^you can easily discover that Dr. Archer, 
although employed in this case, is a better 
preacher than lawyer. In the pulpit he has it 
all his own way. lie can assert v^^hat he pleases 
and no one has the right or the privilege of con- 
tradicting him. But he cannot throw himself 
back on his ministerial dignity in this court. He 
cannot act the clerical autocrat here. He cannot 
expect his naked assertions, backed up by not a 
particle of legal proof, to settle disputed ques- 
tions as they do in his pulpit. The church and 
the civil court are very different institutions.” 

It was unfortunate for Dr. Archer that he had 
interrupted Bertram with such a positive asser- 
tion. It certainly gave his opponent the advan- 
tage. Bertram continued : 

^^But the reverend lawyer, gentleman of the 
j ury, has lorded it so long over people in the pul- 
pit, that he seems to think that the court is hound 
to accept his bare dictum as testimony which 
cannot be disputed. He seems to he acting in a 
double capacity — he is both witness and counsel. 
The reverend gentleman has affirmed emphatical- 
ly that the prisoner was in pursuit of a wounded 
deer. Now let him come on the witness’ stand, 
and prove up his assertion. I call on him to do 
it. He can come about as near establishing his 
uncalled for testimony as he can prove the exis- 
tence of a God.” 

But, Bertram soon saw that nobody was en- 
joying this ridicule except himself. So, thinking 
it best to desist, he said : 


FIERY TRIALS. 


^^But I spare the reverend gentleman. It 
seems to be the fashion with the counsel for the 
defense to make suppositions. They will there- 
fore allow me the same privilege. I can make a 
reasonable hypothesis too. Let us see. Mr. 
Barton has asked what became of the peddler’s 
horses ? Is it not very reasonable to suppose 
that the prisoner had accomplices, and that they 
made off with the horses and watches, and 
money, if the peddler had any ? It is believed 
that there is a clan of robbers in the country. 
Can we not suppose that the prisoner is a mem- 
ber of the gang?” 

would sooner believe that you are one of 
the gang,” cried a voice somewhere in the crowd. 

^^Mr. Sheriff,” exclaimed the Judge, ^^arrest 
that man.” 

But the man could not be found. 

‘T remember,” continued Bertram, not appear- 
ing to have noticed the interruption, ^That some- 
time since an advertisement appeared in the 
newspapers making inquiry in regard to one W. 
Z. Boland. It was reported that Mr. Barton had 
found a pocket-handkerchief in a hollow tree by 
the roadside close to the scene of the murder. I 
do not vouch for the truth of the report, I ex- 
pected some use would be made of that article in 
this trial; but I have never seen the handker- 
chief; and I do not know that the counsel for 
the defense have possession of it.” 

^^Oh, here it is,” cried Dr. Archer, ^^you can 


FIERY TRIALS. 


397 

see it if you wish. If you think the owner was 
an accomplice of Milson’s avc would be happy to 
see him.” 

^‘Well, gentlemen of the jury, here is the hand- 
kerchief, sure enough. And here in the corner 
is the name of W. Z. Boland. Mr. Barton ad- 
vertised extensively for the owner. I thought 
that Mr. Boland would appear as a witness in 
this case. Why was not Mr. Boland brought 
into court?” 

^Must from the simple fact,” said Dr. Archer, 
that he never has been heard from.” 

‘Tie never has been heard from,” replied Ber- 
tram ; ^^and why not? Somebody in the world 
must know the man. He must have seen this 
advertisement, which was published in so many 
papers. Yet he has never been heard from. 
Why, gentlemen, it is just as reasonable a hy- 
pothesis as can be made, that this man Boland 
was an accomplice. It is easy enough to suppose 
that he and probably others made olf with the 
horses and other property before Milson was ar- 
rested. Of course if that hypothesis be correct, 
Boland would have been a great simpleton to re- 
ply to an advertisement in the newspapers. You 
can perceive that my supposition is much more 
in accordance with reason, and with the facts in 
the case, than that of Mr. Barton in regard to 
the wounded deer. Mr. Barton calls this a case 
of circumstantial evidence. I cannot see why 
he should do so; for we have the plainest sort 


FIERY TRIALS. 


398 

of facts. Just look at them. The prisoner was 
seen to leave Pontotoc county in company with 
the peddler. They journeyed on together till 
they came to the Tallahatchie river. The ped- 
dler took an old road which is seldom traveled. 
I leave it for you, gentlemen of the jury, to con- 
jecture why he did this. Somebody must have 
given directions. It would be reasonable to 
suppose that the prisoner did it. A few hun- 
dred yards from the river, the report of a pistol 
is heard. Some little time afterwards these two 
hunters come into the old road ; and they see 
Milson making off in great trepidation, and thus 
acting as ^ guilty man. These hunters as law-a- 
biding citizens promptly arrest him. They take 
from him his pistol, which they find loaded with 
the exception of one barrel that had been re- 
cently emptied of its charge. The ball was extract- 
ed from the peddler’s head, which ball has been 
exhibited to you ; and it is the Yery size that the 
prisoner’s pistol carries. The hunters search 
him, and find the peddler’s property on his per- 
son, which, if he is an innocent man, he ought 
not to have touched. His knowledge of the law, 
to say nothing of common prudence, ought to 
have prevented his doing such a thing as that — 
concealing on his person the property of a mur- 
dered man. 

^‘Now, gentlemen of the jury, these are the 
stubborn facts in the case; and I ask you how 
much stronger could testimony be ? I see no 


FIERY TRIALS. 


399 

possible grounds for any other hypothesis, at all 
reasonable, than that the prisoner is guilty. You 
have the law and the evidence. If according to 
these your consciences obligated also by your 
oath will suffer you to acquit the accused I shall 
utter no word of complaint. I only, ask you to 
look at the facts in the case. You are not to 
consider the hypothesis which Mr. Barton has 
made, and which is so utterly inconsistent with 
the real facts. You might suppose, if you are 
going to be governed in your action by sup- 
positions, that the peddler s own pistol accident- 
ally discharged itself and shot him through the 
head, and that the horses broke loose and plunged 
into the Tallahatchie river and were drowned. That 
would be as reasonable as Mr. Barton’s hypothe- 
sis in regard to the wounded deer. ” 

^^Mr. Barton argued that the prisoner could not 
have committed this shocking deed, because there 
was no motive prompting him to it. But what 
have you to do with motives ? You cannot see 
into men’s hearts, and you know not what their 
motives are. They amount to nothing — they are 
entitled to no consideration in the face of unde- 
niable facts. You cannot acquit a guilty party 
simlpy on the ground that the prospect of reward 
was not a sufficient inducement to commit the crime. 
There is no way to measure the strength of in- 
centives. Men often perpetrate the most awful 
crimes for what would appear to some as a trifling, 
insignificant amount, while to themselves it ap- 


4oo 


FIERY TRIALS. 


pears to be ample compensation. So the ques- 
tion of motives and inducements can cut no figure 
in this case.” 

wish from the bottom of my heart, gentle- 
men of th^ jury, you could acquit the prisoner; 
I wish the law and the evidence would permit 
his acquittal. I have no prejudices against the 
prisoner, and I ask you as honest men to lay 
aside all prejudices, either one way or the other, 
and do justice though the heavens fall. ” 

It could not be denied that Bertram had made 
a strong case. He seemed to be, as he said, en- 
tirely free from prejudice; and his only object 
appeared to be to have nothing but simple justice 
done. Even Milson and his friends could not 
accuse Bertram of manifesting excessive zeal to 
secure the prisoner’s condemnation. All had to 
acknowledge that he had done nothing more than 
the functions of the office required. 

When the jury retired the crowd in the court- 
room was left in a state of the most painful sus- 
pense. They seemed to anticipate and to dread 
the verdict. But their suspense was of brief dura- 
tion. In about twenty minutes a signal was 
given at the door of the jury-room. The door 
was opened, and the jurors filed slowly through 
the crowd, up to the Judge’s stand. The drop- . 
ping of a pin could almost have been heard in 
that court-room. There was a momentary pause, 
and then the verdict was announced — ‘^Guilty as 
charged ! ” A shudder ran through the crowd. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


401 


They knew that the penalty was death. Mr. 
Barton dropped his head upon his hands, leaning 
upon the table. Dr. Archer was so overpowered 
that he fell upon his knees in the court-room and 
seemed to pray for several minutes. Judge 
Huling, who was presiding, waited respectfully 
till he was through. When the Doctor arose from 
his knees the tears were streaming down his face. 
Audible sobs were heard all over the room. Few 
dry eyes could be seen. Milson betrayed no 
emotion ; but what he really felt no one could 
tell. It was very evident that few in the house, 
if any, believed Milson to be guilty. 

Presently Judge Huling in a husky voice 
ordered the sheriff to take the prisoner back to 
jail. When poor Milson rose to leave, if any one 
had only given the word to release him, there is 
not much doubt that the crowd would have 
gathered round him and restored him to liberty 
in spite of law and evidence. But no one dared 
to do this. 

The jury was discharged. But no sooner had 
they gotten out of doors than a crowd gathered 
around them, and bitterly reproached them for 
the verdict they had returned. 

^Wou have condemned an innocent man,” cried 
one. 

^Tlis blood will be upon your heads,” said 
another. 

And then another who was perfectly furious, 
exclaimed : 


402 


FIERY TRIALS. 


^‘You ought to be hanged, every one of you. 
John Milson no more murdered that peddler than 
you did. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.” 

^^Why, gentlemen,” said one of the jurors, ^Sve 
had to be governed by the law and evidence- 
There was no dodging it.” 

“You didn’t have any evidence,” cried one, 
“to prove that Milson committed the murder. 
All the world can’t make me believe that he is 
guilty. You have just deliberately condemned 
an innocent man to death. You’d better sneak 
off to your homes and never show your faces 
again.” 

However unjust and unreasonable these re- 
proaches were, it was with some difficulty that 
the court could prevent the mob from inflicting 
personal injury upon the jury. They left town 
as soon as they possibly could. 

A disagreeable duty remained for Dr. Archer 
to perform, and that was to break the awful news 
to Junie Paine. He knew of the relation be- 
tween the two young people. They made no 
effort to conceal it from him. 

At once he mounted his horse and rode out to 
where the young lady was keeping school. It was 
late in the evening when he arrived at her board- 
ing house. Miss Junie came out to the gate to 
meet him. One glance at the Doctor’s face con- 
vinced her that he had no good news to com- 
municate. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


403 


^^Tell me/’ she said in a trembling voice, 
the trial ended?” 

^Tt is,” was the reply. 

^‘Well ?” 

^‘My dear young friend, prepare yourself for 
bad news.” 

Junie made a desperate effort to brace up. 

The Doctor was silent. At last he said : 

•‘There is hope yet; we by no means give up 
in despair. We shall spare no pains and no ex- 
pense to save him.” 

“Tell me the worst, Doctor.” 

“He is condemned to death, ” 

Junie did not shrink nor speak. She became 
dizzy — staggered, and would have fallen to the 
earth, had not Dr. Archer prevented it. He 
called for help ; and Junie was borne to her room 
in a state of unconsciousness. Restoratives were 
quickly applied, and in a short time the young 
lady recovered from her swoon. Then she re- 
quested to be left alone with Dr. Archer for a 
few moments. When the members of Mr. Jones' 
family had retired, she said in a quivering voice : 

“Oh Doctor, how can God, who is so merciful 
and kind, suffer him to meet such a horrible and 
unjust fate ?” 

“Do not speak rashly, my child. God has not 
yet suffered it. As I told you, we have not given 
up all hope. There is no telling what may hap- 
pen before the dreadful day arrives. We are 
going to appeal to the Supreme Court. May be 


FIERY TRIALS. 


404 

the decision of the Circuit Court will be reversed. 
At any rate we will gain time. We inust in the 
meantime pray God to clear up the mystery. 
^Man’s extremity is God’s opportunity.’ So do 
not despair. Be cheerful till there is reason to 
abandon all hope.” 

^‘Doctor, do you think anybody believes that 
he is guilty ?” 

^Tf you could have witnessed the scenes which 
transpired to-day you would not ask such a ques- 
tion. All seem to believe that he is innocent.” 

^‘Then why do they not go to that horrid jail, 
and give him liberty?” 

^^That would not be right, my dear. It will 
not do to trample the law under foot. If Milson 
should be set free by a mob, of course he would 
be regarded as nothing but an escaped convict. 
I want him to be acquitted in an honorable way.” 

^‘Doctor,” she cried, rising to her feet, ^That 
law is a curse which condemns an innocent man 
to death. I have no respect for any such law — 
I do not — I cannot believe that God requires it 
to be observed. Men would be cowards to stand 
by and see an innocent man put to death. It 
would be sinful in them. Why can they not go 
boldly to the jail, and take him before the court, 
and tell the Judge to his face that the innocent 
man shall not suffer? There would be no injus- 
tice in that. God himself would not condemn such 
an act. Oh !” she cried as these wild thoughts 
were rushing through her mind, ‘^if I could only 
be his ” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


405 


She paused. 

^‘Ilis what?” asked Dr. Archer. 

She sank her voice to almost a whisper as she 
said : 

‘^You know Doctor^ that we are engaged to be 
married ?” 

^‘Yes.” 

‘^‘The time has nearly arrived for the consumma- 
tion of that engagement. Doctor, I will be true. 
God forbid that I should desert him in this dread- 
ful hour of trial. I trust you will not think me 
indelicate if I say that if I were only his wife, 
1 think I could be of service.” 

^Tn what way ?” 

‘Tf you please,” she said suddenly as some 
new thought appeared to rush to her mind, 
wdll retract the word ^service.’ Doctor, I want to 
see him. If I w^ere his wife, I could be with him 
whenever I please. Will you have the kindness 
to deliver a note to him ?” 

^^Certainly, I will.” 

The young lady then got her writing material, 
and in a few moments she had the note ready. 
From the sudden change in Junie’s manner. Dr. 
Archer began to fear that there might be some 
danger of mental derangement. 

‘^‘My child,” he said as Junie handed him the 
note, ^^you would better not act too hastily. 
From wdiat you have said I can easily guess at 
the contents of this note. You might take a 
step which will subject you to severe criticism.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


406 

^‘Doctor,” she said with an exhibition of energy 
and firmness, have reached a point that places 
me beyond the fear of criticism. I shall not do 
anything which my conscience disapproves. I 
shall not desert the dearest friend I have on earth 
in his trials. Nothing could convince me that he 
is guilty of murder and robbery, but his own con- 
fession ; and if he should make such a confession 
I should believe him to be insane. In his right 
mind he is incapable of the crime for which an 
unjust tribunal has condemned him. Who was 
the lawyer against him ?” 

‘^Mr. Bertram.” 

^^Bertram ?” 

.^Wes.” 

^^Doctor, I never could endure the looks of 
that man. Though he is my sister’s husband, I 
have no confidence in him. It will require all of 
my religion to forgive him.” 

^^My child, you do not understand these legal 
matters. Bertram did no more than his duty.” 

^‘Well, let us not talk about him. I do not 
like to give him any place in my thoughts. 
Please deliver that note.” 

Dr. Archer saw that it was useless to give the 
young lady any more advice. He could not ac- 
count for the sudden change in her manner. 
After praying with Mr. Jones’ family, he re- 
mounted his horse, and returned to Holly Springs 
that night. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


407 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Early the next morning Dr. Archer proceeded 
to the law office of Mr. Barton. When he had 
taken his seat, as might be expected he at once 
adverted to the occurrences of the preceding day. 

^AVere you surprised,” he asked, ^^at the result 
of the trial yesterday ?” 

^^No,” answered Mr. Barton, ^ffiot after we had 
reached a certain stage of the proceedings. The 
circumstantial evidence was so strong against 
Milson, that I was considerably perplexed. Yet 
I did not think he would be condemned to suffer 
the extreme penalty of the law. But while I 
was speaking my suspicions were aroused ; and 
the more I study about the matter the more I am 
confirmed in these suspicions.” 

^^What kind of suspicions ?” 

^*You noticed the conduct of that boy whom I 
happened to single out as a mere illustration ?” 

• ^^Certainly I did.” 

^Tt seemed to be the merest accident. But it 
suddenly flashed into my mind that what I had 
supposed as a simple illustration was a real fact. 
I was so strongly convinced that I was almost 


FIERY TRIALS. 


408 

upon the point of accusing that hoy of the mur- 
der in open court.” 

think, Mr, Barton,” said Dr. Archer, ‘That 
you and I have the very same suspicions in re- 
gard to the matter.” 

“To be plain,’’ replied Mr. Barton, “I suspect 
Bertram himself.” 

“So do I.” 

“I have studied over the thing all night,” said 
Mr. Barton, “but I see no thread which we can 
take hold of to untangle the mystery.” 

“What makes you suspect Bertram ? I ask 
the question to see if our suspicions rest on the 
same basis.” 

“Well,” replied Mr. Barton, “I have had to 
manage a great many cases of circumstantial evi- 
dence, and whenever I get a case of this sort I 
watch in every direction for some clue ; T closely 
watch men whom I have the slightest reason to 
suspect. As soon as I heard Milson’s version of 
the affair, I was satisfied that he told the strict 
truth. But my suspicions fastened upon no one 
till yesterday. I was watching Bertram closely 
the whole time he was speaking. You remember 
that he alluded to the existence of a gang of 
horse-thieves. I noticed a slight change in his 
manner while he was on this point. He did not 
dwell upon it as he might have done. I thought 
I detected a little anxiety on his part to get 
away from it. Then I recalled how frequentlj^^ 
I have seen him and that boy leave town together, 


FIERY TRIALS. 


409 

and come back together. So I began to suspect 
that both of them belong to the gang. But this is 
a very slight clue— nothing but suspicion. I also 
suspect some of the jurors of complicity ; and 
the thought occurred to me that among them 
they would make a scape-goat of poor Milson 
— especially since the law and the evidence ap- 
peared to demand the verdict which they brought 
in. Bertram is a shrewd, sharp man ; but I in- 
tend to keep my eye on him. So, all we can do 
now is to wait patiently for the development of 
events. I believe that something will yet turn 
up to establish Milson’s complete innocence.” 

“Your suspicions are like mine, Mr. Barton. 
Though, on yesterday, he appeared to be fair, 
and even to sympathize with Milson. He did 
nothing and said nothing more than duty re- 
quired.” 

“No. There w^as no necessity for saying more. 
He felt sure of his case.” 

“Of course,” said Dr. Archer, “we will appeal 
to the Supreme Court.” 

“Certainly. By the fime the Supreme Court 
reaches the case and decides upon it I hope some- 
thing may transpire to put us on the track of the 
murderer.” 

“Well, that being settled, tliere is another mat- 
ter, about which I should like to ask your ad- 
vice. ” 

“What is that?” 

“To be brief then, Milson is engaged to be 


410 


FIERY TRIALS. 


married to Junie Paine, and the young lady is 
willing to fulfil the engagement even under pres- 
ent circumstances.” 

Dr. Archer then went on to give all the par- 
ticulars, and then again asked Mr. Barton what 
he thought of the marriage — whether it would be 
advisable under existing circumstances. 

Mr. Barton then thought for a moment, and 
replied : 

can see no objection if the young lady is will- 
ing to risk it. It may be in spite of all we can 
do, that she would be a widow in a few months. 
But if she sees proper to take the risk, we have no 
right to interpose' an objection.” 

After some further conversation Dr. Archer 
proceeded to the jail. He almost dreaded to meet 
the prisoner. But he found Milson calm, his face 
wearing an expression that indicated happiness. 

trust, John,” he said, ‘That in the hour of 
trial you feel that Jesus is your Saviour and 
friend ?” 

“I have Jio doubt and no fear on that subject. 
Doctor. I have put myself in the Lord’s hands, 
and I feel perfectly resigned to His will. If it is 
not right that I should die on the scaffold I am 
confident that the Lord will in some way prevent 
it. But if it is His will that I should die in this 
way, I have no right to murmur. God will do 
what is best.” 

“You take the proper view of the subject, my 
dear boy. The Judge of all the earth will do 


FIERY TRIALS. 


411 

right. I am truly glad that your confidence in 
our dear Saviour is so strong. You may rest 
assured that he will do what is best for you. If 
he sees proper to take you hence in a short time, 
it will only be to remove you to a happier world.” 

have not the least fear of death, Doctor, 
/fhere is only one thing that troubles me.” 

What is that ?” 

^‘You know the relation between Miss Junie 
Paine and myself.” 

‘Wes.” 

“Well, she is willing to marry me in the midst 
of all my dismal surroundings. The time we had 
appointed for the marriage is nearly here. Would 
you advise me under present circumstances to 
take such a step ?” 

“On such a subject, John, I would prefer not 
to give advice. I think you and the young lady 
are the proper persons to settle that matter.” 

“Doctor, of course, I desire to see her 5 but it 
would be — or to say the least, it would subject 
her to criticism if she were to come here as a 
young lady. But if she were my wife, there 
would be no grounds for scandal. And if I am 
taken from her, she will be in no worse condi- 
tion than she now is ; for I will leave her all my 
property which is sufficient to support her in 
comfort.” 

“Under such circumstances, John, I see no 
good reason for opposing your wishes.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


412 

^‘Then Doctor, I will thank you if you will see 
that she gets this note to-day.” 

‘T will send it immediately,” replied Dr. 
Archer, ^^or if you think best I will take it my- 
self, and make any explanation that may be 
necessary.” 

^‘None is needed. Doctor. I will get an answer 
by the hearer. Please come back this evening.” 

will come, John, whenever you desire to 
see me, be it day or night.” 

Milson thanked the Doctor for his kindness. 
The preacher left the jail; and soon the letter 
which he had written was on its way to its 
destination. * 

In the evening the prisoner was sent for to 
receive his sentence. Again a large crowd of 
people assembled in the court-room when they 
saw Milson led along the street. The prisoner 
walked into the room without the slightest indi- 
cations of trepidation. 

Whatever might be the facts, his bearing was 
that of an innocent man. His look made that 
impression upon all who saw him. 

When he stood up the Judge said : 

^^Have you anything to say why sentence of 
death should not be pronounced upon you accord- 
ing to law ?” Milson replied in a clear, calm 
voice which was heard distinctly by all present : 

suppose it is now too late to say anything. 
I know I can say nothing which could change the 
sentence that your Honor is bound to pronounce. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


413 


I have gone through the form of a trial which 
was conducted wdth fairness. I have no accusa- 
tions to make against any one on that account. 
The District Attorney has done nothing more 
than his duty required. I do not deny that the 
witnesses have told the strict truth. I was in 
precisely the situation which they have described. 
But, if they had arrived on the spot a few mo- 
ments earlier or a few moments later, I 
would not be 'standing before this court to- 
day in the attitude of a criminal to receive 
sentence of death. I am merely the victim 
of unfortunate coincidences. But I have been 
declared guilty of the awful crime of murder — 
murder for such a purpose as makes my soul re- 
coil in horror. These twelve men were supposed 
to be impartial. I have no accusation to bring 
up against them. But notwithstanding the weight 
of circumstantial evidence against me, I boldly 
assert that the real murderer has thus far escaped. 
It may never be known till the last day of time 
who the murderer is, and I may have to repose 
in a felon’s grave. But when the last awful day 
arrives, and all of us stand before the great White 
Throne, to hear that sentence Avhich will settle 
our eternal destiny, the unerring Judge will not 
point to him who is now speaking, as the guilty 
party in this case. Standing here before men, 
and before God who knows all secrets, I place my 
hand on my heart, and I affirm and declare to all 
the world, in opposition and contradiction to the 


414 


FIERY TRIALS. 


verdict of the twelve jurors, that I am not guilty. 
No human blood stains these hands, and no ac- 
cusing conscience disturbs this heart. I can sleep 
as quietly and peacefully as a babe on its mother’s 
breast. And now I am ready to hear your Honor 
pronounce sentence of death upon an innocent 
man.” 

Milson’s voice ceased. All present felt the 
solemnity of the moment. The prisoner’s em- 
phatic denial of guilt, the expression of sincerity 
upon his face, his striking attitude as he stood 
with his hands upon his breast, his steady gaze 
at the Judge who was to speak the words that 
doomed him to death — all this seemed to rivet 
the impression upon the minds of the hearers that 
Milson was a deeply injured man. It is no won- 
der then that a slight tremor could be detected 
even in the voice of Judge Huling as he said : 

^^John Milson, it is my painful duty to pro- 
nounce sentence of death upon you as the law 
demands. You have been declared guilty of 
murder by twelve of your countrymen. I shall 
make no comments and no remarks of any sort 
upon the case. In accordance with the verdict 
of the jury I sentence you to be hanged on Fri- 
day-- — , by the neck till you are dead.” 

Milson listened with respectful attention to 
these awful words. Not a muscle quivered, and no 
unusual paleness spread over his face. As he left 
the court-room with his firm step, and his calnT 
and resigned look, many eyes suffused with tears 


FIERY TRIALS. 415 

gazed after him. Again he was locked up in his 
lonely cell. 

No sooner had he left the room than Mr. Bar- 
ton took the necessary steps to appeal to the 
Supreme Court. 

About two hours after Milson had been re- 
manded to prison Dr. Archer again went to the 
jail. He carried with him a letter from Junie 
Paine. Milson read it, and then said : 

‘‘Doctor, she will be here day after to-morrow. 
Will you take the necessary steps to consummate 
our marriage ?” 

“Certainly, if you are determined upon it.” 

“The matter,” replied Milson, “is definitely and 
positively settled. Doctor, it is a strange letter 
that she has written. Some of the expressions 
she uses are enough to excite suspicion as to her 
sanity. I do not understand it.” 

He handed it to Dr. Archer, who read it and 
then said : 

“It is a strange letter, John. But when I 
carried the news of your condemnation, and while 
I was talking to her there was a sudden change 
in her manner, for which I could not account. I 
began to fear that she was losing her reason. But 
I hope that our suspicions are groundless. She 
is certainly a brave and noble woman, John, to 
marry you under such circumstances. But I pray 
qad that you may get out of this awful difficulty 
and live to reward the devotion of such a wife. 
I confess the prospect looks rather gloomy just 


FIERY TRIALS. 


416 

now. It seems we can get no clue to the mys- 
tery. But you may rest assured that we will 
leave no stone unturned to bring the real mur- 
derer to justice. Possibly you might suggest 
something that would be of service to us.” 

^‘Doctor, I cannot suggest a single thing. I 
leave the matter in the hands of the Lord in 
whom I have an abiding faith. I cannot feel the 
uneasiness which probably I ought to feel. But 
no matter ; I am ready for the result whatever 
it may be ” 

•T am glad to hear you say so/' replied Dr. 
xlrcher. In a few minutes afterwards he took 
his leave. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

We need not tell how Milson spent that night 
and the next day, and the following night. It 
would be in vain to attempt to portray his feel- 
ings. Here he was condemned to death, with 
but little hope of reprieve or mitigation of the sen- 
tence. All human means to save him, it appeared, 
had failed ; and now there was only one source 
to which he could appeal. If God did not in some 
way interfere, it seemed that he must suffer an 


FIERY TRIALS. 


417 

ignominious death. The prospect was dark. Then 
he was about to be united in marriage to one 
around whom gathered all his earthly affections. 
What could she promise herself in connecting her 
destiny with that of a reputed robber and mur- 
derer ? He seriously suspected that her reason 
was beginning to gradually withdraw from its 
temple. Her letter he read over and over till he 
could repeat every word from memory. It cer- 
tainly afforded grounds for the suspicion that she 
was at least partially insane She wrote, not as 
to a man condemned to die ; but she spoke of 
their future life ; and how glad she would be to 
help him in his career of usefulness. 

The young man was in torture. The question 
came up should he marry this poor insane girl ? 
So he was in a dreadful state of suspense till the 
hour arrived for the marriage. Then Junie and 
Dr. Archer and Mrs. Archer made their appear- 
ance at the jail. We shall not attempt to de- 
scribe the meeting of Junie and Milson. Some 
things can be better imagined than described. 
The young man gazed earnestly and searchingly 
into the face of his intended bride, expecting to 
detect palpable signs of insanity. But he was 
gladly surprised. Junie looked not at all like a 
lunatic. He then talked with her, but her con- 
versation was perfectly sensible and rational. 
Yet the young man was not satisfied with his in- 
vestigations. So' he presently requested to be 
left alone with Dr. Archer for a few moments. 
When the ladies had retired he said : 


FIERY TRIALS. 


418 

^^Doctor, what do you think about Junie’s 
sanity ?’' 

^•'She came to my house yesterday evening ; 
and I have been watching her closely. I have 
talked with her, and I can discover not the slight- 
est trace of insanity. But somehow she does not 
seem to realize your situation. It seems to give 
her very little uneasiness. I confess this puzzles 
me.’' 

^‘Perhaps, Doctor, it is some sort of mono- 
mania.” 

^^But then,” said the Doctor, ^^she exhibits no 
wildness of manner. She talks as rationally 
about you, as about anybody else. The only 
thing that makes me the least suspicious is that 
she does not apprehend your danger. But she 
does not talk nor act like a monomaniac, as you 
can see yourself.” 

^^Well, would you advise the marriage ?” 

^‘As I have said before, John, I do not like to 
give advice to anyone on such a subject. But, your 
refusal to marry her might make matters worse. 
Besides, who knows but the Lord has put some 
thought in Junie’s mind that may lead to your 
acquittal if she becomes your wife. If I were 
in your place, I do not think I would hesitate on 
the ground of insanity. If I am any judge at all 
there are no indications of ^mental derangement 
about her. My wife, too, is of my opinion.” 

“Very well then. Doctor ; we will say no more 
about it. Please perform the ceremony” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


419 

1q a few minutes, in the presence of the jailor 
and Mrs. Archer as witnesses, the two young 
people were declared husband and wife. In a 
little time, the Doctor and his wife went back 
home and the bride and groom were left alone. 
It was a rather gloomy kind of marriage ; and yet 
the young people appeared to be happy. In the 
course of their conversation Milson remarked : 

^Tou will not go back to the school ?” 

^‘No, my school is out.’’ 

want you to board with Dr. Archer. It is 
not necessary that you should teach any more. 
I hope you will spend as much time with me as 
you can. I know this is not a very inviting 
place for a bride ; but you have no idea how your 
presence lights up my lonely cell.” 

will remain with you all the time,” said 
Junie quietly, ^Till you leave this place.” 

Milson looked at his young wife in amazement. 
His suspicions were again aroused. She must 
be deranged. 

Junie, my dear, what do you mean ?” 
see you do not understand me,” she ans- 
wered in the same quiet manner. mean then 
I will remain with you in this cell till you walk 
out free to go where you please.” 

Milson in great astonishment said : 

Junie, you certainly know that I am sen- 
tenced to death.” 

“Of course I do ; but that gives me no uneasi- 
ness.” 

“Why does it not ?” 


420 


FIERY TRIALS. 


^^Because the sentence Avill never be executed.” 
dear Junie,” said Milson in a sorrowful 
tone, ^^have you married me with such an expec- 
tation as that ?’' 

^‘There is not much expectation about it. I 
have no fear as to the final result. I know the 
Lord will not disappoint me.’' 

‘^Do you rely exclusively on God ? How do 
you know but that it is the Lord’s will that I suf- 
fer death on the scaffold?” 

^‘But it is not the Lord’s will.” 

^HIow do you know ?” 

^^How do I know ? Well, I do not claim that 
the Lord has revealed it to me in an audible voice. 
But when I go to pray on this subject, my faith 
is so strong, that it seems useless to pray for your 
deliverance. I feel that my prayer has already 
been answered.” 

'^And is this your only hope ? Your faith may 
be the blindest presumption.” 

^^Well, probably my faith might be weaker if 
I relied on that alone. But God helps those who 
help themselves. Faith without works is dead,” 

‘T cannot imagine,” said Milson in perplexity, 
^^what in the world gives you so much confidence.” 

Ht does not matter. I want you to be cheer- 
ful till the time comes, and then you shall see 
what a weak woman can do.” 

Milson in silence looked searchingly into her 
face to see if he could not detect symptoms of in- 
sanity. Miss Junie seemed to understand his 
thoughts for with a smile she said ; 


FIERY TRIALS. 


421 

‘^You need not look at me, as if I were a luna- 
tic. I know very well what I am about.” 

will be driven to the conclusion that you 
are slightly demented if you continue to talk in 
this style. My dear, you do not appear to under- 
stand my situation. You do not seem to under- 
stand that I am in danger of disgraceful death.” 

^^You are in very little more danger than I 
am/' she said quietly. ^^And now, I want to 
make an explanation. Y'ou may have tjiought 
that I have manifested more anxiety than a mod- 
est woman ought to, to fulfil our engagement. 
But I had an object in view. I could not have 
saved you easily without being your wife. But 
now, thank God you are safe.” 

safe ! 0, J unie, J unie ! poor thing, you 

know not what you say. What made you mar- 
ry me under such impressions ? The probability 
is that in a few weeks we will be forever sepa- 
rated. Poor child” said Milson with much emotion, 
^Svhy have you taken a step that may terminate 
in your being left the widow of a reputed mur- 
derer ?” 

^^Do not,” cried Junie, ^^apply that horrid word 
^murderer’ to yourself even with a qualifying 
term preceding it. Do not I know that you are 
innocent of crime — innocent as the angels in 
heaven. When Dr. Archer brought the news to 
me of your condemnation, I asked the question 
if God would permit an innocent man as you are 
to die such an infamous death. I was almost 


422 


FIERY TRIALS. 


startled by what appeared to be a still small voice 
close to my ear whispering ^no.’ Several times 
since I have asked the same question, but the 
voice seemed to answer in anger, ‘no,’ because I 
doubted. And now I am afraid to ask the ques- 
tion any more. I dare not doubt. I married you 
to save you, and I will save you.” 

Milson listened in agony at this wild and 
strange langm^ge. Then he took both her hands 
in his and said : 

“0, Junie, my poor deluded wife, how I pity 
you.” 

“Y'our pity is all wasted,” she said. “Have 
you no faith in God?” 

“Certainly I have. But I will not suffer my- 
self to exercise a presumptuous faith.” 

“Mine is no presumptuous faith. For while T 
look to God for help, I expect to carry out my 
own plans.” 

“Your plans? What sort of plans?” 

“If I tell you,” said Junie, “you will accuse 
me of insanity. So, if you please, let us say no 
more on this subject, at least till you are con- 
vinced that I am perfectly sane. I rather think 
anyhow that I will keep them to myself. No 
good general divulges his plans till they are exe- 
cuted. So I will take it as a favor, if you will 
ask me no more questions in regard to this sub- 
ject. You will see at the proper time that I 
knew what I was doing.” 

Junie insisted on changing the subject of their 


FIERY TRIALS. 


423 

conversation. Milson assented, as her strange 
words only gave him pain. 

The next day, through the efforts of Mr. Bar- 
ton and Dr. Archer, permission was obtained for 
Junie to remain in the jail with her husband. 

The marriage had occasioned a sensation in the 
town of Holly Springs. But whether the reader 
may think strange of it or not, Junie elevated 
herself in public opinion by the course which 
she had pursued. It gathered many true friends 
around her. But there was one thing which was 
a great and general puzzle ; and that was how 
she could be so cheerful under the circumstances. 
If she felt any uneasiness in regard to the final 
result, she%never manifested it. When any of 
her friends questioned her on the subject, she 
replied that she had no fear ; but she could not 
be induced to assign any reason. 

The most of her time was spent in the jail 
with Milson. The young wife was so cheerful 
that Milson at last began to hope that in spite of 
the present prospect he would be honorably ac- 
quitted ; and yet, so far as he could see, there 
was no legal ground of hope. He was looking 
forward to the decision of the Supreme Court as 
his last chance. But, in spite of his gloomy sur- 
roundings, he was happy in the company of 
Junie. When he became the least despondent, 
she would encourage him and reassure him. So 
the days flew by. 


424 


FIERY TRIALS. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Time rolled on. Milson was as happy as any 
man condemned to die on the scaffold could be. 
He had a faithful young wife ever at his side, 
who kept him out of the depths of despair. Still 
his prospect of an honorable discharge from prison 
was as dark as ever. Mr. Barton had been busy 
watching in all directions ; and he had put a spy 
upon Bertram’s tracks ; but not the slightest clue 
could he obtain. 

At length the news came that the Supreme 
Court had passed upon Milson’s case. The 
judgment of the Circuit Court was affirmed ; 
and another day was appointed for the young 
man’s execution. This dreadful news cast a 
gloom over the entire community. Milson could 
not but feel despondent. When the awful 
information was brought to the prison, Milson 
looked at Junie to see what effect it would pro- 
duce. But she did not appear to be the least 
concerned. 

^Munie, you understand this?” 

‘^To be sure, I do.” 

^‘Do you see, the day is named for my execu- 
tion ?” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


425 


‘^Yes, I see/’ she quietly remarked. ‘^But 
what does that amount to ?”* 

Amount to ?” cried Milson, with some little 
inward vexation at her apparent unconceri. 
^^Junie, have you lost your mind ?” 

^‘No, I think not. But do not lose your pa- 
tience, my dear husband. I tell you, not a hair 
of your head shall he touched.” 

This was the first time since their marriage 
that this subject had been mentioned. It was 
so unpleasant to Milson. And now again his 
suspicions were aroused as to his wife’s sanity. 

‘^Junie,” he said, in a sorrowful tone, “I know 
not what to make of you. Here is the day ap- 
pointed by the Supreme Court for my execution. 
My only hope after the trial was in that Court ; 
and now that hope is gone ; and yet you tell me 
that I shall not he harmed. What, in the name 
of reason, can you do to prevent the execution 
of the sentence ?” 

^^Cheer up, my dear,” she said, kindly. ^‘Why 
can you not have faith in my assurance ?” 

^^How can I, when your assurances seem to 
me to rest on simply an insane hope. Why do 
you tantalize me in this way ?” 

^‘You know,” said Junie, ‘That I would not 
tantalize you for the world.” 

“Well,” said Milson, a little peevishly, “why 
will you not explain yourself ?” 

“My dear husband, if I were to explain my- 
self, I fear that all would be spoiled. If you 


fierv trials. 


426 

will only be patient and trust to me, you shall 
be saved. Do not be in the least troubled by 
the decision of that Supreme Court. Be cheerful 
and ask me no more questions about my plans, 
for I think it best to keep you in ignorance for a 
while longer. But take my word for it, you shall 
never die on the scaffold. You need never to 
have the least fear of that.” 

Milson, seeing that it was useless to attempt 
to elicit any further information in regard to this 
matter, dropped the subject. But in spite of 
the dark prospect his wife’s manner inspired him 
>with hope. 

When the news came in reference to the de- 
cision of the Supreme Court, Dr. Archer and 
Mr. Bcxrton drew up a petition to the Governor, 
asking a pardon for the prisoner. It was signed 
by hundreds of the citizens of Marshall County. 
This petition Mr. Barton presented in person. 
He plead with all the earnestness of a man who 
was convinced of the righteousness of his 
cause. But the Governor was inexorable. Mr. 
Barton then made an effort to procure a commu- 
tation of the sentence ; but all in vain. 

see no reason why I should interfere with 
the course of the law,” replied the Governor. 
^Tf evidence can be relied on, this man Milson is 
guilty of the murder. It is as plain a case as 
ever I saw.” 

^Tf you were acquainted with the man. Gov- 
ernor, you would not say that,” replied Mr. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


427 

Barton. ^*His moral nature renders him utterly 
incapable of committing such a crime.” 

can pardon no man simply on the ground of 
his social standing, when there is overwhelming 
testimony to show that he is guilty of cold-blood- 
ed murder. Why, sir, you have not a particle of 
evidence to show that this man is innocent, ex- 
cept his own statement, which, in law, is no 
evidence at all ; and yet you ask me to assume 
that he is not guilty, in the face of the decisions 
of two Courts.” 

^^Governor,” said Mr. Barton, with emotion, * 
will not ask you to assume that Milson is in- 
nocent. I base my plea for the exercise of Execu- 
tive Clemency on one of the prerogatives of your 
office. You can pardon, notwithstanding the 
weight of the evidence against the prisoner. You 
can assume that he is guilty, if you will; but 
here, in this petition, are the names of hundreds 
of the best citizens of Marshall County. I ask 
you, sir, are not the wishes of a large body of 
your fellow-citizens entitled to some respect ? I 
think their judgment in this case, for the reason 
that I have mentioned a while ago, is more reli- 
able than that of the Jury. But I will say 
nothing about that. In the name of all the citi- 
zens, I plead for mercy. Governor. You know 
what Shakspeare says about mercy — beautiful 
lines : 

“It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath ; it is twice bless’d ; 

Itblesseth him that gives, and him that takes ; 

’Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; 

It becomes the throned monarch better than his crown.” 


428 


FIERY TRL\LS. 


The great God is merciful. Christ extended 
mercy to the thief on the cross, when His blood 
Avas streaming to the earth. Of all the attributes 
of the divine character, mercy is the most lovely. 
Governor, I ask you in the name of humanity it- 
self to exhibit this noble quality in your own 
nature; I ask you in the name of this State; 
for jf it were necessary,! believe I could get nearly 
all of the citizens of Mississippi to sign this pe- 
tition.’' 

have not the least doubt of that,” inter- 
rupted the Governor, with a smile, ^df you 
would talk to them in the style you are talking 
to me. It is a wonder to me that your client 
Avas ever condemned with such an advocate. 
But, Mr. Barton, I tell you plainly, that my 
mind is fully made up. It Avill not do to trample 
LaAv and Justice under foot. I see no reason in 
the Avorld that demands executive clemency in 
this case. So, I say, once for all, that the man 
must be executed according to law,” 

^^Then, sir,” said Mr. Barton, as he Avas turn- 
ing to leave, ^’as sure as a merciful God exists, 
an innocent man Avill suffer.” 

He returned to Holly Springs and reported 
the result. Dr. Archer seemed to be upon the 
borders of despair. The last hope Avas destroyed. 
It appeared that it Avould take something akin to 
a miracle to save poor John Milson. But, not- 
withstanding all these unfaAmrable circumstances, 
J unie Milson did not seem to be the least dis- 
turbed . 


FIERY TRIALS. 


429 

Time went on, and the day appointed for the 
execution was rapidly approaching. 

One Sabbath Dr. Archer requested his con- 
gregation to observe the following Thursday as a 
day of fasting and prayer for the benefit of John 
Milson. He stated that it was now universally 
believed that Milson was innocent. ^^But/’ he 
said, ^The only hope we now have, is in God. 
We have, it seems, exhausted all human means. 
But the Lord knows who the murderer is, and 
we can now look only to Him for help. I have 
to leave on Friday to attend a church court in 
the city of Memphis. Let us meet then in this 
church next Thursday at 11 o’clock and humbly 
invoke God’s aid in this time of trouble. If poor 
John Milson is executed I believe that in the 
course of time the mystery will be cleared up, 
and then this country will have to repent of hav- 
ing committed a legal murder. But I have not 
lost faith in God.” 

Thursday came. When the church bell rang all 
the people of Holly Springs went out to church. 
The store doors were closed, and things had the ap- 
pearance of a Sabbath day. Dr. Archer con- 
ducted the services. Many fervent prayers were 
sent up to the throne of Divine Grace in behalf 
of the poor. prisoner under sentence of death. 
There were many ^^strong cryings.” Had the 
murderer been present at that meeting he must 
have felt like confessing his crime, to prevent an 
innocent man from suffering undeserved punish- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


430 

ment. But he was not there. Yet there was 
one present, who next to the prisoner himself, 
was the most deeply interested ; and that was 
Junie Milson. Some of her friends who had 
begun to suspect her of insanity, watched her to 
see what effect these solemn proceedings would 
have upon her. But Junie shed not a tear. She 
had the appearance of one who was attending an 
ordinary service. Her friends were amazed. On 
what she could base a single hope no one of them 
could imagine. x\fter the service ^vas ended 
some of her lady friends went to her, and begged 
her to explain, that they might share her hope. 
But Junie had been questioned so much on this 
point by curious friends that she had become 
somewhat sensitive. She did not like to talk 
about it. For, their close questioning, she was 
aware, made her appear a little insane. So now 
when they approached her in church, she an- 
swered as if slightly vexed : 
have nothing to explain.” 

^^But you seem to have hope,” said one. 

‘‘Yes, I do.” 

“What is it then ?” 

“I will say this,” answered Junie, “that to- 
morrow one week you will see John Milson a free 
man, or you will see me a corpse.” , 

Her friends shook their heads incredulously. 

“Poor Junie,” said an old lady with tears in 
her eyes, “you don’t apprehend your husband’s 
awful danger.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


431 

^‘Some of us/' said another, ^^have asked Mr. 
Barton about it, and he says that there is no le- 
gal ground of hope. He says that everything 
has been done that can be.” 

Junie became a little more vexed and excited; 
and she replied : 

^^Mr. Barton from his standpoint is justifiable 
in his assertion. But he does not know every- 
thing. No rope,” she exclaimed with an ener- 
getic gesture, ^^shall ever throttle the throat of 
John Milson.” 

At this point Mr. Barton himself came up. He 
was in the church, and had overheard Jiinie's last 
remark. He took in the situation and put an 
end to the conversation by offering to conduct 
Junie back to the jail. As they were walking 
along he said : 

see that the ladies are annoying you with 
their questions. Now I want to give you a lit- 
tle advice.” 

^^Mr. Barton,” she interrupted, have half a 
mind to tell you — ” 

^‘Do not tell me anything,” he quickly ex- 
claimed. do not want to know. I only want 
to say to you that it is imprudent to use such 
bold expressions as you did just now in the 
church. I would advise you not to talk to your 
friends on this subject.” 

understand you Mr. Barton ; and I believe 
you are the most sensible man I ever saw ; and 
I believe you understand me too without any 
explanation.” 


432 


FIERY TRIALS. 


^^Say no more; but be prudent.” 

Then he left her at the jail. Jimie went in, 
and gave Milson an account of the proceedings 
at the church. She talked about it in such a 
cool sort of way that the young man exclaimed : 

^^Junie, you are stark mad.” 

believe,” she said seeming not to be at all 
surprised at the accusation ^That everybody in 
town thinks so with one exception.” 

^^And who is that?” 

^‘Mr. Barton. He doesn’t stare at me, and 
open his eyes in amazement, as if he took me to 
be insane. He talks to me as he would to a ra- 
tional being.” 

‘^When did you see him ?” 

^^Just a moment ago. He came with me to the 
jail.” 

^^Junie,” said Milson after a pause, ‘T want to 
see Mr. Barton this evening. Will you get him 
to come here ?” 

^AVhy, yes,” she replied. ‘T expected you to 
make that request. I am anxious that you should 
see him ; for I believe he will remove your ground- 
less suspicions.” 

^T hope he may ; for, my dear Junie, you have 
given me reason for weeks to think that on one 
point you are insane.” 

^Wery well, then. I will have Mr. Barton here; 
and after your interview I don’t think you will 
ever accuse me of insanity again.” 
want to see him alone.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


433 


‘‘Yes, I understand that too.” 

Then the subject was dropped. But after 
dinner Junie went herself to the office of Mr. 
Barton, and requested him to visit her husband. 
He cheerfully complied with her request, and in 
a few minutes he was in the jail with the pris- 
oner. After they had talked a short time Mil- 
son said : 

“I have sent for you for a special purpose. I 
begin to believe that my wife’s reason is affected.” 

“That seems to be the general impression,” 
remarked Mr. Barton quietly. “I have heard 
numbers of persons say so.” 

“But she says you do not think so.” 

“How does she know ?” asked Mr. Barton. 

“I cannot tell. But, she says you do not look 
as if you thought her insane.” 

“Well,” replied Mr. Barton, “she has talked 
in such a way as to lead people to think that she 
is not exactly sane.” 

“But, Mr. Barton, tell me,” cried Milson 
eagerly, “do you think she is perfectly sane?” 

“To be sure I do,” replied Mr. Barton. 

“Well do you know anything about the plans 
she speaks of?” 

“I have never heard her speak of any plans.” 

“Mr. Barton, if you please, do not tantalize a 
man in my situation.” 

“I would not do so for the world, John. But 
this is a delicate business. Your wife was on the 
point of telling me something which I did not 


434 


FIERY TRIALS. 


wish to hear. But to be candid with you, I think 
I have divined her purpose, I am so certain of it 
that I would not permit her to divulge it to me.” 

^‘What is her purpose ?” 

‘^On that point I prefer to be silent.” 

^^My wife, Mr. Barton, at times appears to nie 
to act very strangely. She says emphatically 
that I shall not be executed, and expresses the 
utmost confidence in her ability to save me. I 
cannot imagine how she is to do such a thing ; 
hence I have thought her partially insane.” 

^^She is certainly not insane. But the truth 
is she is in an unusual position for a lady, and 
especially a young woman. She has talked too 
much ; and expressed her intention to save you, 
too publicly. Her bold expressions have made 
the impression on people that she is in the first 
stage of insanity. I might have thought so myself, 
but for two or three circumstances which any 
lawyer could link together so as to divine her 
intentions. She has nerved herself up to such a 
point that she does not talk and act like a wife 
would be expected to do with such an apparently 
dreadful prospect before her ; and that is all there 
is in her insanity.” 

^^You seem to know her intentions.” 

“Now see here, Milson,” said Mr. Barton with 
a smile, “you have already forced me to say more 
than I thought I would say. But you looked so 
despondent, and seemed to be in such distress, 
that I thought I would try to cheer you up.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


435 

•^Anybody in my situation/’ said Milton, 
^^needs encouragement if there are any grounds 
upon which it can be based.” 

^A^es, I know that; I can enter into your 
feelings.” 

“Let me ask you one more question, and then 
I will trouble you no further.” 

“Very well. If it is a proper question I will 
answer it.” 

“I want you to answer candidly, Mr. Barton, 
and end my suspense. I do not want to solace 
myself with delusive hopes.” 

“No, I would not suffer you to do that.” 

“Well then,” said Milson as if he almost 
dreaded to hear the answey, “do you think my 
wife can save me?” 

“My opinion is,” said Mr. Barton emphasizing 
the word opinion so as to make it something more 
than an opinion, “that she can.” 

“Mr. Barton,” said Milson, “do not let her do 
anything that will bring disgrace upon herself, 
even to save me.” 

“I cannot say a word to her on the subject,” 
replied Mr. Barton, “and my opinion is that you 
would better not say anything. J ust let her alone. 
She is a woman of decided firmness, and your 
opposition would amount to nothing. I do not 
believe anything short of death or imprisonment 
could prevent her attempt to carry out her 
determination. Her mind is in a great strain ; 
and next week she may exhibit such oddities as 


436 FIERY TRIALS. 

to again impress you with the belief that she is 
insane.'' 

^•Mr. Barton, you have used the word ^attempt.' 
Is it to be only an attempt?" 

^‘John," said Mr. Barton good-humoredly, ^^you 
are a man of great obtuseness of mind for a law- 
yer. Now I will tell you to keep you from sink- 
ing into despondency, that whenever I have any 
reason to think that you are in real danger, I Avill 
let you know. Certainly that is plain enough ; 
and so to prevent your asking any more improper 
questions, I will bid you good-day." 

And Mr. Barton left. Milson was in consid- 
erable perplexity; but with Mr. Barton's assur- 
ances he was elevated into a condition of hope- 
fulness and cheerfulness. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

It is now time to direct attention to other 
parties with whom our storj’ is concerned. The 
allusion is to Col. Paine and Bertram. The Colo- 
nel had the utmost confidence in his son-in-law ; 
and Bertram eagerly endorsed the infidel senti- 
ments of his father-in-law. He really desired 


FIERY TRIALS. 


437 

earnestly to believe, as the fool hath said in his 
heart, “there is no God.” In his situation the 
thought would have been comforting that death 
would sink him into a state of eternal annihila- 
tion. He was guilty of dark crimes that would 
never come to light. It is a great mistake to 
suppose that God exposes every villain. In many 
instances he does so. But there is no doubt that 
innumerable crimes of horrible atrocity will be 
wrapped in impenetrable mystery till the awful 
day of Final Accounts. Many aggravated mur- 
ders have been committed, whose perpetrators 
will never be known till their names are called 
before the assembled universe by the Eternal 
Judge. This fact itself is the strongest kind of 
presumptive evidence in favor of Christian belief 
in a future state of rewards and punishments. 
It is clear that in this probationary condition of 
man Vice does not receive that punishment which 
justice demands; and it is plain, also, that Vir- 
tue often does not secure that reward which, the 
sense of right and wrong tells us, is deserved. 
Hence to the thinking mind the conclusion would 
appear to be unavoidable, that there is another 
state in which the apparent evils of the divine 
government of this world will be corrected. 

But to return. Bertram was a very shrewd 
villain. He laid his schemes with the prudence 
of an educated scoundrel. He was Murrell’s most 
valued coadjutor. But whether our reader may 
think strange of it or not, Bertram in the execu- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


438 

tion of his plans had never with his own hand 
committed murder. That horrible work he left 
for others of the gang to perform — not that he 
was too conscientious ; but he was too politic. 
In all the operations of the clan in which he was 
concerned, he always had the wisdom to provide 
for his own legal safety, so far as it could possi- 
bly be done. 

The time had now come for the execution of 
his scheme for the destruction of his father-in- 
law. It was now December; and the great bulk 
.of Col. Paine’s cotton crop had been conveyed to 
Memphis. The Colonel proposed to Bertram to 
accompany him, to which proposition the wily 
robber consented with secret joy, though he made 
a show of hesitation and reluctance to avoid arous- 
ing suspicion. Murrell and another one of the 
clan were already in the city. Bertram had no- 
tified them to be on hand as he intended to in- 
duce his father-in-law to go to Memphis about 
this time. But he was saved the trouble of offer- 
ing any inducement, as the Colonel walked into 
the trap set for him without any solicitation or 
persuasion. 

So, on Tuesday following the Thursday on 
which public prayer was offered up for Milson’s 
benefit, the Colonel and his son-in-law were in the 
city of Memphis. 

Tuesday night, while they were at the hotel, 
Bertram introduced to Col. Paine a couple of 
friends by the names of Blake and Slogue. Both 


FIERY TRIALS. 


439 


these men presented the outward appearance of 
elegant gentlemen. Bertram whispered to Col. 
Paine as soon as he had an opportunity that they 
were large cotton planters and had entrusted to 
his management a great deal of their law busi- 
ness. They soon entered into conversation with 
the Colonel who was delighted with them. He 
thought he had never met with nicer gentlemen 
and more congenial companions. 

After a little Blake proposed that they should 
^Take a drink and the Colonel very readily and 
cheerfully signified his acceptance of the propo- 
sition. When the parties perceived that the dram 
was beginning to have some effect on their victim 
Slogue proposed that they should have a game 
of cards. 

^‘WeTl not go to any gambling establishment/’ 
said Bertram. ^‘Vile tricks are too often played 
upon gentlemen ; and I do not care to be en- 
trapped by swindlers.” 

^‘Neither do I/’ said Slogue. was not think- 
ing of going to any such dens. Besides I never 
play cards with any but known friends.” 

‘‘Suppose then we go to my room/’ said Ber- 
tram, “and have a social game just for amuse- 
ment. What do you say, Colonel ?” 

“I have no objection,” replied Col. Paine. “It 
is a very pleasant way to pass off the time.” 

Accordingly the four adjourned to the room 
occupied by Col. Paine and his cunning son-in- 
law. Bertram ordered several bottles of wine ; 


440 


FIERY TRIALS. 


and all took another ^^drink” before they began 
to play. Bertram and Col. Paine were partners. 
Their two opponents suffered themselves to be 
badly beaten in the first several games. It occur- 
red to the Colonel that he might derive some profit 
from the game as well as amusement. So he 
said pleasantly : 

think it would make you two gentlemen 
play more carefully if we were to stake a small 
amount on the game. You would become more 
interested in what we are doing.’’ 

This was precisely the proposition that the 
villains wanted their victim to make. ^ 

‘‘Well, Colonel,” said Blake, “perhaps it might 
have that effect. I will try not to play so reck- 
lessly. But you and Mr. Bertram I fear will 
beat us badly. What do you say, Mr. Slogue ?” 

“0, I am willing,” replied Slogue carelessly. 
“If I have any money to lose I would as soon 
Bertram should win it as anybody. I can afford 
to lose something anyhow on account of that law 
suit which you brought to such a successful issue 
for me. I tell you. Colonel, Bertram will do to 
trust in litigation.” 

“0, yes,” said Col. Paine, who was warmed 
up with the wine he had drunk. “I feel proud 
of my son-in-law.” 

“You have reason to be,” put in Mr. Blake-, 
“for I do not think Mr. Bertram has a superior 
in legal abilities.” 

“0, come, gentlemen,” cried Bertram trying 


FIERY TRIALS. 


441 


to look bashful, ^Sve have had enough of this 
flattery. Let us get to playing.” 

must have another drink first,” said Mr. 
Slogue. 

‘^Yes,” replied Bertram, ^flet us all take a drink. 
It will sharpen our wits.” 

The glasses were filled again. But Col. Paine’s 
glass was the only one that contained wine. The 
others drank only colored water. This part of 
the process of swindling was conducted by his 
own son-in-law. 

At first Bertram and Col. Paine won all the 
stakes. This soon made the game assume dimen- 
sions of importance in the estimation of the Col- 
onel. The trio observed his excitement and 
glee. They suffered him to win a hundred 
dollars. 

^‘Let us quit,” said Mr. Blake. have lost 
enough.” 

^^0, no,” cried Col. Paine. ^‘Make the stakes 
larger and you will play better.” 

^AVell, if I do not have better luck the next 
game, I will quit,” said Blake. 

The Colonel winked at Bertram, who nodded 
as if he understood. The two men appeared to 
be considerably under the influence of wine. 

The next game Blake and Slogue won. 

^‘Now you see,” said Col. Paine, ^fluck has 
changed.” 

^AVell, let us double the bet,” said Blake. 

‘T have no objection,” replied Col. Paine, who 


442 


FIERY TRIALS. 


seemed to be pleased with his skill. will go 
further and bet five hundred dollars.” 

^^All right,” said Slogue. 

They played again, and Col. Paine lost. Then 
they suffered him to win again ; and then he lost. 
For some time they played in this manner, al- 
lowing the victim to win just enough to keep up 
his interest. But in two hours Col. Paine could 
count his losses by thousands. 

Then in desperation he proposed that they 
should double the bet at each successive game. 
He thought he had sufficient funds to keep up 
this desperate and hazardous method till he should 
win, and then by one stroke he would recover all 
he had lost and much more. 

The trio allowed him to win the next game or 
two. The Colonel was greatly elated. They 
proceeded in this way till at last an amount was 
the stake which was as large as the proceeds of 
the Colonel’s entire crop. The victim played 
with a trembling hand. His interest was too in- 
tense to be described. In a moment more he 
lost. 

^^Bertram,” he exclaimed in agony, ‘T am 
ruined. I have lost every cent I have in the 
world.” 

Bertram appeared to be in despair. 

^^Look here, gentlemen,” cried Bertram sud- 
denly, ^^you must give me a chance to win back 
at least some of what I have lost. That is fair 
you know. When we commenced the game, I 


FIERY TRIALS. 


443 

had no idea of losing to this fearfid extent. It 
has been a fair game, and you have played like 
gentlemen. We will have no quarrel about it 
like cut-throat gamblers. But if you are disposed 
to do the right thing, I ask you to meet me here 
to-morrow night, and give me a chance.” 

^•Why certainly, Bertram.” said Blake. ‘‘That 
is the way gentlemen do.” 

“Well then,” said Bertram, “as a pledge that 
you will do this I ask you to lend me ten thou- 
sand dollars.” 

“Double the amount, Bertram, if you wish. I 
am willing to do you any favor in my power. I 
will make you a present of the amount if you 
want it.” 

“No, no,” cried Bertram, “I am no beggar. 
My self respect would not suffer me to accept it 
as a present. I only ask the favor of a loan. You 
won the money fairly, and it is yours. But I 
want you to give me a chance to-morrow night. 
Probably, luck will change. I know you do not 
want to break a friend up, root and branch.” 

“Of course not,” replied Blake as if Bertram^ 
wer§ the best friend he had in the world. “You 
shall have a chance, and I hope you may w.in ; 
and I have no doubt you will ; for it was nothing 
but luck with me and Slogue. We will also give 
Col. Paine a chance to make up his losses if he 
desires it.” 

“I don’t know,” said Col. Paine with a forced 
smile. “I have lost the proceeds of my whole 
cotton crop.” 


444 


FIERY TRIALS. 


^^Bufc you no doubt have friends in the city/’ 
said Blake, ^Svho would come to your relief.” 

^•0, yes,” replied Col. Paine, can borrow to 
any extent that I desire. So we will meet here 
to-morrow night and see about it. I want to think 
over the matter. I do not know, though, that I 
will take any further risks.” 

^‘Very well,” replied Blake politely. ^‘But it 
is growing late. So we will bid you good-night, 
and wish that you may have pleasant dreams and 
refreshing sleep.” 

Then the two retired to their own room. When 
they had gone Col, Paine did not speak for sev- 
eral moments. lie and Bertram both appeared 
to be occupied with gloomy reflections. But 
presently he said : 

“Bertram, are you sure those two fellows are 
not professional gamblers ?” 

“0, no. Colonel,” was the quick reply, they 
are not professional gamblers. I am well ac- 
quainted with both of them. They are perfect 
gentlemen, and it was a fair game. Those men 
* would not be guilty of trickery.” 

“If you were not well acquainted with them, 
I would be sure to take them for gamblers who 
are up to all kinds of tricks.” 

“I do not see how you can say that. Colonel. 
You remember that the proposition to bet came 
from you.” 

“I know that,” replied Col. Paine, “but they 
pretended to be unskilled players merely to get 


FIERY TRIALS. 


445 


me to make the proposition. My opinion is yon 
will not see them. They will leave to-night.” 

“You are very much mistaken,” answered 
Bertram. “I would be willing to wager my life 
that we will meet them in the morning. I know 
where their plantations are, and I know all about 
the men. they are both friends of mine, and 
would lend me fifty thousand dollars any day 
Avithout security. I am going to try to Avin back 
my losses. I have borrowed ten thousand dol- 
lars from Blake, and this I think Avill enable me 
to get even Avith them, if nothing more. Our 
luck Avas bad to-night — that is all. I think Ave 
Avould better try them to-morroAV night. We will 
play more cautiously. We certainly can beat 
those two men. They just happened to draAv 
good hands.” 

“Whose cards are they ?” asked the Colonel. 

“It is my deck,” said Bertram, “and a right 
new one too. The cards are all right.” Saying 
this Bertram put them in his pocket. 

“Shall Ave try them to-morroAv night,” asked 
Bertram. 

“Hoav can I, Bertram ? I am broke.” 

“But can you not borroAv ?” 

“Of course. I can borroAv any amount I Avant, 
Avithin reasonable bounds ; but I Avill have to give 
some security.” 

“I think you can do that very easily,” replied 
Bertram. ‘‘If no other Avay you can give a 
mortgage on your farm and other property.” 


44 ^ 


FIERY TRIALS. 


could, ’’said Col. Paine. ^‘But let us sleep 
on it awhile. To-morrow my brain will be clearer ; 
and I can think better what to do.” 

Accordingly both retired to bed and slept 
soundly till next morning. The Colonel waked 
up not feeling very well from the last night’s 
dissipation. Bertram offered his father-in-law a 
glass of wine to cheer him up, and the Colonel 
drank it. 

After breakfast they walked down Main street 
without any particular object in view. They had 
not gone far before they met Blake and Slogue 
who spoke pleasantly and expressed the hope 
that the Colonel was feeling well after the last 
night’s amusement. 

‘Tt was not much amusement to me, gentle- 
men,” said Col. Paine moodily. ‘Tf I were in 
3 ^our condition I could afford to call it amuse- 
ment.” 

^^0, Colonel,” said Blake, ^^you must not give 
Avay to trifles.” 

“Trifles indeed !” exclaimed Col. Paine. 
do not see how it is a trifle when I have lost the 
results of a whole year’s labor.” 

“Well, suppose you have,” replied Blake. “I 
have been in that condition more than once. 
Three years ago I lost in one night two hundred 
thousand dollars. But I was determined that I 
would not show a faint heart. So the next day 
I went to the bank and mortgaged my plantation, 
and got as much money as I wanted; and the 


FIERY TRIALS. 


447 

night following I took in rny two- hundred thou- 
sand dollars and fifty thousand dollars over. Luck 
you see is not always against us, and we must 
not give up because we lose occasionally. The 
next time you may be the successful party. 
Pluck is bound to win after awhile.” 

With this kind of talk and with the aid of a 
glass or two of strong drink Col. Paine was per- 
suaded to follow Bertram’s advice. It was un- 
fortunate for the Colonel that he had such un- 
qualified confidence in his son-in-law. He could 
not have been duped by the two men alone. But 
notwithstanding his suspicions as to their true 
character, he at least believed implicitly what 
Bertram had said about them. 

So they went to Col. Paine’s commission mer- 
chant. 

‘T want,” said the Colonel, ^^one hundred thou- 
sand dollars,” 

Bertram had persuaded him to borrow this 
large amount. ^‘The more money you have,” he 
said, ^Hhe easier it is to influence luck. That in 
fact is the secret of luck.” 

When the Colonel asked for a hundred thou- 
sand dollars, the merchant looked at him closely 
and perceived that he was at least slightly under 
the influence of ardent spirits. From, probably 
motives of friendship joined to policy, he thought 
it his duty to remonstrate. 

''Why, Colonel,” he said, "you have already 
received the amount due from your cotton.” 


448 FIERY TRIALS. 

know that,” replied Col. Paine, ^‘but I want 
more.” 

^^May I ask what you want with such a large 
amount ?” 

^‘Never mind,” said Col. Paine a little tartly, 
‘T want it, and that is sufficient.” 

‘^The" Colonel is capable of attending to his 
own business,” said Bertram. 

‘T think I am,” said the Colonel. 

The merchant was of a different opinion; but 
he said : 

^‘Very well, you can get it, but I must have 
some security.” 

^‘That I propose to give,’ replied Col. Paine. 
^^You can have a mortgage on all my property. 
No doubt that will be sufficient.” 

^‘Yes ; but Colonel, if your speculation does 
not succeed, I should think you will be in a 
somewhat crippled condition.” 

have the ability to manage my own affairs,” 
said Col. Paine. 

^^All remonstrance on the part of the merchant 
was to no purpose. So with considerable reluc- 
tance he drew up the necessary legal document 
and gave an order on the bank for the required 
amount. 

The remainder of the day Bertram and his two 
accomplices endeavored to make the time pass 
off as pleasantly as possible for their victim. 
Bertram was secretly overjoyed at the success of 
his villainous scheme. He felt that he would 


FIERY TRIALS. 


449 


soon be fully repaid for his months of patient 
waiting and watching. The prospect of making 
good his losses kept the Colonel in a comfortable 
frame of mind till night. 

After supper the four men were seated around 
the card table in the same room. Col. Paine was 
a great lorer of wine ; but he thought he would 
not "drink any, but that he would keep perfectly 
cool, so that his opponents could take no advan- 
tage of him. Bertram offered him a glass, but 
he declined, and remarked : 

would advise you not to take any till the 
game is ended.’’ 

^AVine,” replied Bertram, ^^always brightens 
my intellectual faculties.” 

The Colonel noticed that Blake and Slogue 
both drank freely ; but he was not aware of the 
facfc that it was only colored water. 

The game commenced. They allowed the Colo- 
nel to win ten thousand dollars. Then he began 
to play more boldly. 

^‘You see,” said Blake, ^Tuck has changed.” 

^^Come, Slogue, we’ll have to wake up.” 

The next game the Colonel was on the losing 
side to the sum of twenty thousand dollars. At 
this juncture he manifested a disposition to with- 
draw. But Bertram said : 

^Tt will never do to give it up now. Let us 
try another game.” 

am perfectly willing,” said Blake blandly, 
^‘that you should recover all your losses.; and 


FIERY TRIALS. 


450 

then we will quit good friends. But of 
course in a fair game like this, I will win all I 
can. 

^‘Yes/’ said Bertram, ^That is right. All we 
want is a fair game.” 

The next game Col. Paine was on the winning 
side. And after two or three more games he had 
won thirty thousand dollars. Then his hopes 
were so much revived, he concluded that he would 
take just a little wine. They played on, and 
Col. Paine was still ^^in luck.” So he took a little 
more wine, and then he became bolder. He be-, 
gan to think that Bertram was right, and that 
wine had a tendency to sharpen one’s wits ; so 
he took more. After awhile when he became 
warmed up with strong drink he became a little 
reckless. 

We need not enter into all the particulars. 
Col. Paine’s success was varied ; but, as the 
reader has no doubt anticipated, the whole hun- 
dred thousand dollars in the course of three or 
four hours, passed into the possession of Blake 
and Slogue. 

When the last card was thrown, that settled 
Col. Paine’s financial destiny, he looked bewild- 
ered. Then, as he realized his penniless condi- 
tion he dropped his head upon the table. Not a 
Avord was spoken. But in a moment he raised 
up, and looked straight into the faces of his op- 
ponents, and spoke with the energy of a man 
bent upon the accomplishment of a stern purpose: 


FIERY TRIALS. 


451 

^‘You two have swindled me/’ he said with de- 
liberation. ^‘You have not played a fair and 
honest game.” 

^•Now, come. Colonel,” said Blake, ^That is a 
very heavy charge to bring up against gentlemen.” 

don’t believe you are gentlemen,” replied 
Col. Paine grinding his teeth. ^‘You are regular 
swindlers.” 

‘‘Mr. Bertram is acquainted with us,” mildly 
answered Slogue. “We will leave it to him to 
say if the game has not been fairly played. You 
are excited. Colonel, and are under the influence 
of wine. But if you, or Mr. Bertram can show 
where we have swindled you out of one cent, we 
will return the whole amount we have won.” 

“Say, Bertram,” exclaimed Col. Paine, rising 
and locking the door, and putting the key in his 
pocket, “are these fellows gentlemen ?” 

Then he drew a pistol and cocked it. 

“Just say, Bertram.” he continued, “have they 
not swindled us ? If you think so, I will make 
them refund or I will take their lives on the 
spot.” 

“Colonel,” said Bertram who had been nar- 
rowly watching his father-in-law’s motions, “put 
up your weapon. It is robbery you know to take 
money at the muzzle of a pistol. I wish I could 
tell you that there has been unfairness in the 
game. But Mr. Blake and Mr. Slogue, as I have 
already told you, are both gentlemen 5 and have 
won our money fairly. You feel no worse about 


452 


FIERY TRIALS. 


it than Ido. So put your pistol up and be quiet.” 

tell you, Bertram,” exclaimed Col. Paine, 
^^you are rnistake'n in these fellows. As sure as 
you are born they have swindled us.” 

^AVell now. Colonel,” spoke up Blake in a 
mild tone, ‘‘if you will show where we have 
practiced the least swindling, we will refund 
every cent.” 

“You villains !” cried Col. Paine angrily, “you 
know I can’t show it; but I am so certain that 
there has been swindling that if Bertram will sa}^ 
the word, I will make you return what you’ve 
gotten from us.” 

“Suppose you did,” meekly replied Mr. Siogue, 
“it would be mere robbery. You have the ad- 
vantage of us. We are unarmed and in your 
power. If that is your way of doing business, 
of course I would rather ‘stand and deliver’ than 
to have a bullet hole through my head.” 

“You are guilty of swindling which is as bad 
as highway robbery.” 

“Sit down, Colonel,” said Bertram. “If we 
have lost all, it is our own fault. I cannot ac- 
cuse my friends of unfair dealing. But gentle- 
men,” said Bertram addressing the two men, 
“you have ruined us.” 

“Well,” said Blake, “I don’t want to injure 
my friends, and if I can be of any service to you, 
command me.” 

“If you wish to do me a favor,” said Bertram, 
“you have it in your power to place me under 
lasting obligations.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


453 


“Name the favor/’ said Blake. 

“Well/’ replied Bertram, “I have told you that 
CoL Paine is my father-in-law, and I think just 
as much of him as I do of my own father. I can- 
not bear to see him ruined. Now, I want you 
to lend me one hundred and twenty-five thousand 
dollars, which you can well afford to do. It will 
put you to no inconvenience at all, and will en- 
able him to get straight with the world again. 
His property must not be encumbered by a 
mortgage.” 

“You have been a friend to me, Bertram,” 
replied Blake, “and now I will comply with your 
request ; or rather I will lend you the money, 
and you can do with it just as you please. That 
is fair.” 

“Y'es, thank you, that will do.” 

“x\nd now Colonel,” said Blake, “if you will 
let us out, we will leave you to rest.” 

“Let Bertram have the the money first.” 

“You are indeed very suspicious,” said Mr. 
Blake with a smile. “But to show you that your 
suspicions are groundless, here Bertram count out 
the money.” 

Bertram did so, and the two men retired. 

“Now Colonel,” said Bertram, “we have got 
the money, and will take our own time to pay it 
back. Let us have a glass of wine, and go to 
bed.” 

Then Bertram very adroitly dropped some kind 
of powder into Col. Paine’s glass. The victim 


454 


FIERY TRIALS. 


drank it ; and in a little while was in a deep sleep. 
Bertram arose, and dressing himself, went to the 
room of his accomplices. 

^^3oys,” said Bertram, “I have drugged him 
well ; and it is now time to go to the boat.” 

Accordingly they went to the river, and soon 
were gliding down the stream. Thirty miles below 
Memphis, they got off the boat and disappeared. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

We now return to Dr. Archer. He set out for 
Memphis on Friday morning just one week before 
Milson s execution was to take place. He trav- 
eled with a heavy heart. Unlike Mr. Barton 
who had kept his thoughts and suspicions to 
himself on one subject, with the exception of the 
hints he had thrown out to the prisoner, Dr. Archer 
could discover not the shadow of a hope for Mil- 
son. He could think of scarcely anything but 
the rapidly approaching execution. It was a sub-, 
ject that almost sickened him ; but he could not 
banish it from his mind. He asked himself fre- 
quently, as he rode along, if God, who was so 
compassionate and just, would not interfere in 


FIERY TRIALS. 


455 


some unexpected way, and bring the murderer 
to light before the innocent should be put to 
death. And all along the road the good man wns 
praying for poor Milson. The Doctor was a man 
who had the utmost confidence in God ; but 
sometimes the dark prospect caused even his 
faith to stagger. 

Friday night he stopped within a few miles of 
Memphis, and spent the night with an old friend. 
The next morning he rode into the city. 

The ecclesiastical court opened at ten o’clock, 
and commenced business ; but Dr. Archer could 
take but little interest in the proceedings. He 
was appointed by the court to preach the next 
morning, but flatly refused, giving as an excuse 
that he was in such a frame of mind, that it was 
impossible. It seemed as if Dr. Archer himself 
was approaching the borders of insanity. His 
depression and uneasiness are not to be wondered 
at, when it is remembered that he was an im- 
pulsive man, whose whole heart was in the cause 
of a young man whom he dearly loved, and whom 
he believed with all his soul to be innocent of 
murder. 

Monday came and went : then Tuesday. Wed- 
nesday morning dawned. The next morning the 
Doctor would start home. As the hours went 
by bringing nearer and nearer the fatal Friday 
on w^hich Milson was to suffer the extreme pen- 
alty of the law, he became more and more 
uneasy. Hope was dying out. Faith was reel- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


456 

ing like a drunken man. Was it possible, he 
asked himself, that the great and merciful God 
would permit such an awful calamity to occur, 
after so many petitions had .been sent up to the 
Throne of Grace ? In his heart he felt that this 
ought not to be. The thought that the young 
man whom he and others had tried to rescue 
from the clutches of the law, would die an igno- 
minious death, was sickening, agonizing, madden- 
ing. The Doctor became so restless on Wednes- 
day that he could not keep still. He would leave 
the church and walk up and down Main street, 
praying at nearly every step he took. Were all 
these sincere prayers to be in vain ? 

The Doctor was staying with a friend in the 
city to whom he had related the circumstances 
of the murder — in fact, it seemed that he could 
talk of nothing else. After supper the subject 
was brought up again. But his friend, to divert 
his mind, if possible, from a subject which had 
already been discussed till it was threadbare, 
took down a watch that was hanging in the room 
where they were sitting, and made the remark 
that it was a fine chronometer which he had 
recently bought, and quite cheap too. 

^Must examine the works, will you, with this 
magnifying glass.” 

The Doctor took the glass and began to look 
at the. watch. , His eye caught a name on the 
inside of the case. The letters were quite small, 
but the glass brought them out in very legible 


FIERY TRIALS. 


457 

distinctness. In a moment he started from his 
seat, and looking earnestly at his friend, asked : 

‘^How long have you owned this watch ? 

^^Only a few days,’’ was the reply. 

^‘Where did you get it ? ” asked the Doctor in 
visible agitation. 

^‘1 bought it from F. II. Clarke & Co., here in 
the city,” said the friend. 

^^Come along,” cried Dr. Archer, seizing him 
by the arm, ^^come along quick ! I must imme- 
diately see the man from whom you got this.” 

^‘What for ? ” asked the friend, looking as if 
he thought the Doctor crazy. 

‘‘What for? Why look here,” said the Doctor, 
sinking his voice to almost a whisper, “why look 
here — don’t you see that name ? ” 

“Yes, very distinctly.” 

“That,” said Dr. Archer, “is the name of the 
murdered peddler. Come,” he cried, “let us go 
at once.” 

“We will have to go to Mr. Clarke’s residence. 
Can’t you wait till morning? ” 

“I cannot wait a minute,” cried Dr. Archer. 
“This may be the key to the mystery. We 
must go right now. There is not a moment to 
lose.” 

The friend seeing that the Doctor was deter- 
mined, and also being willing to aid all he could 
in the solution of the mystery, went out and 
procured a hack ; and soon they were on the 
way to Mr. Clarke’s residence. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


458 

It was not long before they alighted and rang 
the door-hell. The summons was answered, and 
in a few minutes Mr. Clarke made his appearance. 

^‘Mr. Clarke,” said the friend after Dr. Archer 
had been introduced, ^^you remember this watch 
which I bought from you a few days since ?” 

^^Certainly,” replied Mr. Clarke. 

‘‘Do you remember when you got it ?” 

“Yes, one of my clerks bought it in my absence 
from a boy, not more than two weeks ago.” 

“Who was this boy?” eagerly inquired Dr. 
Archer, who could scarcely keep still, so certain 
did he feel that he was on the track of the 
murderer. 

“I did not ascertain his name,” replied Mr. 
Clarke, “indeed I made no particular inquiry about 
him ; but possibly my clerk can inform you, if it 
is a matter of any great importance.” 

“It is a matter of the gravest importance,” 
replied Dr. Archer, “for the life of a human being 
probably depends upon it.” 

Here Dr. Archer briefly gave Mr. Clarke an 
account of the murder, and of Milson’s critical 
situation. As soon as he had finished Mr. Clarke 
said : 

“We will hunt up Scaliger at once. I see the 
necessity of prompt action. I will render you 
all the assistance in my power. Let us go im- 
mediately; for there is no time to be lost.” 

Then the three got into the hack and were 
rapidly driven to the house where the clerk was 


FIERY TRIALS. 


459 


boarding. When they arrived Scaliger had not 
retired. He was soon found, and then Mr. 
Clarke questioned him in regard to the matter. 

^^Mr. Scaliger,” he said, ^‘do ycfh remember 
the name of the boy who sold you this watch ?” 

Mr. Scaliger put his hands up to his eyes and 
tried to make hk memory act. Dr. Archer held 
his breath expecting to hear a name pronounced 
which he had on the end of his tongue. But 
Scaliger said : 

‘^1 don’t remember that he told his name. If 
he did I’ve forgotten it.” 

‘^Would you know it if you were to hear it ?” 
asked Dr. Archer. 

‘‘No, sir, I don’t think I would. I didn’t pay 
much attention to him. The watch was cheap, 
and I bought it. But the boy was in the house 
this evening, and he asked if I wanted to buy 
another watch.” 

“Did you buy another?” asked Dr. Archer. 

“No, sir. It was a common silver watch, and 
he asked more for it than it was worth.” 

“Do you think you could recognize him again ?” 
asked the Doctor. 

“Yes, sir, easily; for he is one of the ugliest 
boys I ever saw.” 

“What time was it,” inquired Dr. Archer, 
“when you saw him this evening ?” 

“It was not long before sun-set — probably 
half an hour before.” 

“He must be in the city then,” said Mr. Clarke. 


460 FIERY TRIALS. 

^^Scaliger, don’t you think you could find that 
boy?” 

think I could to-morrow, if he is in the 

city.” 

^•But we want him to-night,” said Dr. Archer. 
^Tle must not have the opportunity to leave.” 

“I’ll tell you what, Doctor,” said Clarke, “the 
boy will not be apt to leave before morning. 
There is no necessity for it. I am satisfied he 
will remain to-night. My opinion is that it is 
useless to examine the hotel registers, because if 
he has come by the watches dishonestly he will 
not give his true name. We’ll get Scaliger to go 
round to the hotels early in the morning and 
find him, and persuade him to come to my store.” 

“I can do that easily,” said Scaliger, “by pro- 
posing to buy his watch.” 

“And it may be,” said Mr. Clarke, “that he 
has other watches. But I think it is now too 
late to do anything more to-night. We will have 
to be quiet till morning.” 

After some further consultation it was thought 
best to follow Mr. Clarke’s advice. That gen- 
tleman agreed to notify the police, and then they 
separated for the night. 

Dr. Archer returned with his friend, and they 
retired to rest; but there was no rest for the 
preacher. He spent most ot the night in prayer. 
He could not sleep. He believed that he was on 
the track of the murderer at last, and he felt 
almost afraid to close his eyes in slumber lest he 


FIERY TRIALS. 


461 

should lose the trace. So the hours dragged 
heavily by. But at last the day dawned. The 
first thing which Dr. Archer did was to hire a 
messenger to go to Holly Springs with a letter 
to Mr. Barton. It was short, as follows : 

“I am on the murderer’s track. I hope I will have him in cus- 
tody before many hours. By no means allow the execution of Mil- 
son to-morrow. There is no legal way to prevent it, because you 
cannot possibly get a communication to the Governor in time. But 
there is an illegal way to do it. At all hazards stay the execution. 

Yours truly, A. Archer. 

The Doctor then instructed his messenger to 
deliver the letter without fail early Friday morn- 
ing, or if possible that very night. Here we may 
as well inform the reader that this messenger was 
taken sick Thursday evening so that he could 
not travel. Before day on Friday morning he 
started again ; but he had to stop on the way on 
account of the return of his sickness. Not- 
withstanding his intermittent illness he pushed 
forward as fast as he was able. But it was after 
four o’clock when he reached Holly Springs. 

Dr. Archer, after he had despatched his mes- 
senger, would scarcely take time to eat his 
breakfast. He swallowed his food in haste, and 
then in company with his friend went to the 
establishment of F. H. Clarke & Co. Nothing 
had been heard from Scaliger. While they were 
waiting for him, it was agreed that Dr. Archer 
should conceal himself behind the counter so 
that he could hear what the boy said in case he 
should be found. Mr. Clarke and Dr. Archer’s 
friend then went out to see what had become of 


462 FIERY TRIALS. 

Scaliger. They soon found him at the principal 
hotel in the city. 

^T’ve got him,” said Scaliger in a low tone. 
‘‘He is now at breakfast, and he will go with me 
as soon as he is through.” 

“Very well then,” said Mr. Clarke, “by no 
means suffer him to escape.” 

‘•You may depend upon it, he will go with me. 
I’ve made the impression on him that I would 
buy his watch if he would bring it to the store 
and allow me to examine it carefully. I will 
come with him presently.” 

Mr. Clarke and Dr. Archer’s friend then re- 
turned to the Doctor. They had a policeman 
near by to make the arrest, should it be neces- 
sary. And now all was ready. 

In about fifteen minutes Scaliger came in in 
company with a boy. As soon as Dr. Archer 
heard the lad’s voice, he at once recognized 
Rommie Paine. Ilis heart beat till he could 
almost hear it. He felt that the mystery was 
solved. 

It was assigned to Mr. Clarke ‘to interrogate 
the boy, and elicit such information as he* could. 

“Show your watch,” said Scaliger, pointing to 
Mr. Clarke, “to that gentleman.” 

Mr. Clarke pretending to examine the watch 
said : 

“Are you in the jewelry business, my little 
man? ” 

“Yes, sir,” was the prompt response. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


463 


^‘Where do you live ? 

^‘Little Rock, Arkansas.” 

^Tlavc you any more watches to sell ? ” 

^‘No, not here. Tve got more at home.” 
“What is your name ? ” 

“My name is John Smith ? ” 

Dr. Archer, on hearing this, could scarcely 
restrain an ejaculatory prayer of gratitude. He 
believed that his earnest petitions had not been 
in vain. But Mr. Clarke then drew from his 
pocket the watch which Dr. Archer s friend had 
bought. 

“You sold this watch,” said Mr. Clarke, point- 
ing to Scaliger, “to that gentleman.” 

“Yes.” 

“Where did you get it ? ” 

“I traded for it,” was the reply. 

“With whom did you trade ? ” 

Evidently Rommie did not like this question. 
It had a tendency to excite his ire. So he tartly 
replied : 

“I don’t see that is any 0’ your business.” 
“But, young man,” said Mr. Clarke, looking 
quite serious, “it is my business ; and I will tell 
you it will be a bad business for you if you don’t 
answer correctly. This watch has been stolen, 
and you must explain how you got possession of 
it. If you do not, I will have you arrested as a 
thief. Now I ask you again, with whom did you 
trade?” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


464 

Rommie studied for a moment, and then in 
some little confusion said : 

^T’ve forgot the man’s name.” 

‘‘Forgot it ? ” 

Yes, I have,” he answered emphatically. 

“Look here, boy,” said Mr. Clarke sternly, 
“that story will not do. You must give a better 
account than that.” 

But Rommie now became stubborn. 

“I’ve done told you all I know. If the man 
stole it I can’t help it.” 

Dr. Archer was satisfied that the murderer, or 
at least an accomplice, was found. It was enough, 
So he suddenly came from his place of conceal- 
ment, and pointing his finger at the boy’s face 
sternly exclaimed : 

“I charge you with the murder of that ped- 
dler.” 

Rommie was so startled by the sudden appear- 
ance of this old acquaintance that for a moment 
he was speechless. The eyes of all present were 
turned upon him. The suddenness of the whole 
thing threw him for an instant off his guard, and 
he turned slightly pale. But Rommie, in some 
respects, was no ordinary boy, as his interrogators 
soon found out. 

“Rommie, said Dr. Archer, “I have heard 
your falsehoods. You gave your name as John 
Smith; and you know that is false. You said 
that you live in Little Rock ; and you know that 


FIERYTRIALS. 465 

is false. If you are honest why do you tell such 
falsehoods? ” 

^‘Just because/’ said Rommie bristling up, 
^ht’s none 0’ thar business whar I live, nor what’s 
my name.” 

“Rommie,” said Dr. Archer solemnly, “you 
know that poor John Milson, your own sifter’s 
husband is condemned to be executed to-morrow 
for the murder of that peddler.” 

“Well,” interrupted the boy, “it was proved 
that he done the murder.” 

“You know, sir,” said Dr. Archer with stern- 
ness, “that he did not do it ; and you know who 
did it.” 

“How could I know ? ” asked the boy. 

“Where,” said Dr. Archer, holding up the 
chronometer, which his friend had bought, “did 
you get this?” 

“I bought it.” 

“So I heard you say ; and you say you don’t 
know the name of the man from whom you bought 
it?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“Where were you when you bought it ?” 

“I was at Coffee ville.” 

“Does the man live there — the man from whom 
you purchased it ?” 

“I don’t know whar he lives.” 

“Could you find him again ?” 

“I don’t know that I could ; but what do you 
want to know fur?” 


FIERY^RIALS. 


466 

will tell you” said Dr. Archer, thinking 
that he might frighten the boj into a confession. 
^‘This watch belonged to that murdered peddler.'’ 

^‘How do you know it did ?” 

“That does not matter ; I know it. And now 
it is found in your possession. If you do not tell 
the truth about it, I will have you arrested as a 
murderer.” 

“I’ve told you the truth,” said Rommie. 

“Kommie,” said Dr. Archer, “you have not 
told the truth. It is evident that you know more 
than you will tell. Now I ask you will you suf- 
fer poor John Milson to be hanged when you can 
prevent it?” 

“I can’t help it,” said the boy. 

“Dr. Archer,” exclaimed Mr. Clarke Avith 
bluntness, “that boy is lying like a dog. He can 
tell something about the murder if he would.” 

“I know he can,” replied Dr. Archer, “and I 
Avill have him arrested and tried for the murder.” 

“I’ll show you whether you Avill,” exclaimed 
Rommie with a most determined air, and with 
eyes glaring like those of a wild animal. * He sud- 
denly jerked a pistol from his pocket, and started 
for the door. But the policeman Avho had been 
watching saw this maneuver, and as soon as the 
boy reached the door, both his arms were in the 
strong grasp of the officer. The pistol was in an 
instant out of his possession. 

“Search him,” said Mr. Clarke. “Perhaps 
something may be found that will be of use,” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


467 

llommie struggled with the policeman, but it 
was to no purpose. He was taken back into Mr. 
Clarke’s office, and rigidly searched ; but noth- 
ing was found that gave any further clue to the 
murder. 

It was two o’clock in the afternoon before Dr. 
Archer started to Holly • Springs with his pris- 
oner. He was accompanied by Scaliger, who was 
to be a witness in the case. Rommie was in the 
charge of an officer whom Dr. Archer hired for 
the purpose. For the present we leave them push- 
ing on toward the town of Holly Springs. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Friday morning dawned' with the sun shining 
clear in the eastern horizon. A flood of golden 
light was poured upon the earth ; and the day 
promised to be beautiful. 

It is strange what a propensity the masses have 
to witness the struggles and agonies of a crimi- 
nal who dies by the throttle of the gallows. We 
cannot accuse them of cruelty ; for they look on 
the horrid spectacle with shuddering, sickening 
sensations. It is frequently the case that fe- 
males, who are drawn to the spot by some strange 


FIERY TRIALS. 


468 

fascination, find themselves in a fainting condi- 
tion when they cast their eyes upon the writh- 
ing, suffocating victim of the choking noose. Of- 
ten, when the fatal ^^drop falls,’' stout-hearted, 
strong-minded men turn their eyes away from the 
awful sight. But people go to such places of 
solemn entertainment, impelled by a morbid curi- 
osity. Whether this be true or not, it is an un- 
deniable fact that nothing can excel a public 
^^hanging,” in drawing crowds. 

So on that Friday morning, when it was the 
general expectation that poor Milson would have 
to mount the scaffold, it is not at all surprising 
that wagons, buggies, and other vehicles, loaded 
with as much human flesh as could be crammed 
into them, were driven into the town of Holly 
Springs. Some rode on horses and mules; and 
others came on foot. It was a general holiday 
for miles around ; and nearly the entire country 
turned out en masse. Every street was crowded. 

The gallows had been erected the day before 
about a mile from town. This awful, but plain 
and rude structure, with its noose dangling in the 
breeze, was the center of attraction ; and here 
the people assembled by thousands. Some had 
come the day before, and had camped out in the 
woods, as if determined that they would not be 
behind time. 

But there was one feature of this mighty gath- 
ering that did not escape the notice of those who 
w'ere anything like close observers. Occasionally 


FIERY TRIALS. 


469 

a man would be seen armed with a rifle, or a 
double-barrelled shot-gun ; then there would be 
three or four together. Thus they came in on 
all the roads leading to town. By nine o’clock 
there were as many as a hundred assembled at 
the court-house. They were quiet and orderly ; 
but it soon became evident that they were 
organizing into companies. They made their ar- 
rangements openly and boldly. Mr. Barton, who 
was on the allert, saw these proceedings, and he 
was at no loss to know the meaning. At once 
he proceeded to the residence of Dr. Archer 
where he expected to find Junie Milson. 

The day before she had left her husband tell- 
ing him that she would not see him again till the 
next evening at four o’clock. 

^AVhere are you going ?” asked Milson. 

^Tt does not matter,” she said. ^^But I want 
to tell you not to be alarmed at anything that 
occurs to-morrow. They are making their pre- 
parations,” she continued, while tears came into 
her eyes, ^Tor your execution.” 

^^And if I am executed — ” 

^^Never! never! ” interrupted Junie, throwing 
her arms around his neck and giving way to a 
flood of tears. Then she released him and stood 
in the middle of the floor. 

^^They shall not touch you,” she exclaimed 
with intense emotion. ‘T will not permit it. T 
trample the sentence of the court under my feet 
— I bid defiance to that law which condemns my 


FIERY TRIALS. 


4/0 

innocent husband to death. I will rise above 
the weaknesses of my sex, and show to the 
world what one weak woman can do. I part 
with you, John Milson, not as a wife who expects 
to see her husband a corpse to-morrow. Rest 
easy, dear. A few hours more, and my work 
will be completed. You will see me to-morrow 
evening.” 

Milson said nothing. It was useless. Had it 
not been for Mr. Barton’s assurances, his suspi- 
cions in regard to her soundness of mind would 
have returned. Yet it was but natural that he 
should have feelings of uneasiness. 

When Mr. Barton reached the residence of Dr. 
Archer, he found Junie as he had expected. But 
she seemed to be considerably excited. 

‘^Mr. Barton,” she said, ‘^have you been to the 
court-house this morning?” 

am from there now’” he answered. 

^Wou saw some armed men?” 

^‘Yes, a large number of them.” 

^AVell, you now know my intentions. The 
hour has come for action. I am no Beadicea, 
nor Joan of Arc. I am not an Amazon, Mr. 
Barton; but with my little army I will save my 
husband or die. Do you think I can succeed ?” 

think you can,” replied Mr. Barton, ^^unless 
the sheriff gets up another dittle army’ and 
defeats you.” 

do not believe he can do it, Mr. Barton,” 
quickly answered Junie. am posted in regard 


FIERY TRIALS. 


471 

to his movements. The little handful of men 
that he has under his command, to assist in the 
execution, will be no more than a row of pins 
before my soldiers. But if the sheriff can pos- 
sibly raise enough men to offer resitance, there 
will be blood shed, Mr. Barton. T will lead my 
army myself — I will be seen in the thickest of 
the fight. You have read about women warriors 
in battle — dissheveled hair flying in the winds — 
sword in hand — walking over corpses — cheering 
brave men on — an awful picture, Mr. Barton — 
but if the sheriff dares to offer resistance, he 
will never reach my husband till he walks over 
the dead body of Junie Milson and a hundred 
other corpses. Those men will bring John Mil- 
son out of that jail or die. You may give the 
sheriff to understand that, Mr. Barton.’’ 

cannot say anything to him about it,” re- 
plied Mr. Barton. ^‘Neither can I have anything 
to do with mobs.” 

care nothing for names, Mr. Barton.. Call 
it a mob if you will.” 

^Tt is a serious matter,” said Mr. Barton, ^To 
resist the officers of the law.” 

“Mr. Barton,” cried Junie with wild energy, 
and standing up before him, “do you want John 
Milson hanged ? ” 

“Certainly not,” he answered. 

“Then, talk not to me about resisting the 
officers of the law. I will resist,” she cried, “to 
the last. I want to know if you would advise 
me not to resist ? ” 


4/2 


FIERY TRIALS. 


‘Tt would be useless to give any sucdi advice 
now ; for I perceive plainly that you are des- 
perately bent on executing your purpose. All I 
now have to say to you is, be prudent ; do not 
become excited, and stimulate your men to the 
performance of deeds which may get you and 
them into very serious trouble. There must be 
no blood shed.” 

“There will be none,” said Junie, “unless they 
attempt to execute my husband.” 

“You are not going with the mob, are you ? ” 
asked Mr. Barton. 

“Not unless it is necessary.” 

“I would advise you not to.” 

“I understand you, Mr. Barton, and I thank 
you. I would have gone to you for advice in 
regard to this matter ; but I knew it would not 
do for a man in your position to take any part in 
this sort of an affair. I found out all I desired 
to know from another source. No one can accuse 
you of participating in this thing. I shoulder 
the entire responsibility.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Barton rising to go, “ I am 
glad you understand me. Again I say to you, 
be prudent.” 

Mr. Barton then walked back toward the 
court-house to watch the proceedings of the mob. . 

It was not till twelve o’clock that the mob 
began to move. Then like regular soldiers they 
shouldered arms and went marching along toward 
the jail, which they soon reached. This “littl 


FIERY TRIALS. 


473 

army” as Juiiie called it, was under the com- 
mand of a great gigantic looking man, who had 
the physical strength of two or three ordinary 
men. He was, in fact, a desperate looking man 
—just the right sort to take the leadership of a 
mob. His name was Joab Grimes. 

When they arrived at the prison Grimes 
quietly asked the jailor to lead the way to Mil- 
son’s cell. The jailor saw that it would be folly 
to resist this armed force, and he obeyed. He 
was commanded to open the door — which he did 
without hesitation. 

^‘Why, Mr. Grimes,” exclaimed Milson, ^Svhat 
does this mean ? ” 

^^0, it means,” said Grimes carelessly, that 
we have come to set you free.” 

•^But, Mr. Grimes, you have no authority to 
do that.” 

^‘Here’s splindid authority,” said Grimes hold- 
ing up a long, heavy rifle. ‘^1 tell you there 
ain’t no resisting sich authority as that. There 
is some more like it out there in the yard.” 

^^But, Mr. Grimes,” said Milson, who did not 
much like the idea of regaining his liberty in 
this way, ^flhis is mob law.” 

^^Well, ’spose ’tis ? ” said Grimes bluntly, ^^mob 
law is better than bein’ hung up by the neck like 
a dog. But, I’ll tell you what if you don’t like 
mob law, you jest resist if you want to. We’re 
goin’ to take you prisner. Now you understand 
that. So, Mr. Jailor, if you please jest take off 
them chains.” 


474 


FIERY TRIALS. 


^^Shall I do it, Mr. Milson ?” asked the jailor, 
who thought he ought to make some show of re- 
sistance. 

•^Do as I tell you,’’ exclaimed Grimes with 
sternness. ^T’m in command now. Milson has 
nothing to do with it. We’re a gonin’ to give 
him all the advantage of the law. So off with 
them chains.” 

^Wou see how it is,” said Milson to the jailor. 
‘G am as powerless as you are.” 

The jailor could but obey ; and in a moment 
the fetters were off. 

^‘Now,” said Grimes to Milson, ^^you’re my 
prisner ; not another word, but do jest as I tell 
you.” 

Taking Milson by the arm Grimes led him out 
into the yard. When the crowd of armed men 
saw him, they gave three hearty cheers. Then 
they deliberately marched back to the court- 
house. Milson’s friends were overjoyed. 

Mr. Grimes sent word to Junie that her hus- 
band was at the court-house. By way of answer 
she requested the messenger to tell Mr. Grimes 
to keep him till four o’clock and then bring him 
to Dr. Archer’s. 

The sheriff in the meantime was endeavoring 
to raise a posse to enforce the law. In his heart 
he was really glad that Milson was out of prison, 
and in the hands of a mob that would not permit 
his execution. But he thought he ought to make 
a show of resistance, in order to sustain his 


FIERY TRIALS. 


475 

official character. So he went about over town 
trying to raise a posse ; but every one flatly re- 
fuse to obey the summons. No one cared to get 
into a battle with that determined mob. 

At last four o’clock came, and then Mr. Grimes 
said to Milson : 

‘‘We’ll now go to the preacher’s house.” 

So they went. Mr. Barton had preceded them. 
Grimes led Milson to the gallery where J unie was 
standing. 

Of course the young wife had been in a state of 
suspense which she had endured in silence for 
weeks. The reaction was too great for Junie’s 
delicate nerves. The tension was relaxed. When 
Milson reached her she cried out : 

“Thank God ! saved ! saved ! ” 

He caught her in his arms as she fell fainting. 
But there was a physician standing near by, who 
did what was necessary in such cases, and Junie 
soon recovered. 

The sheriff had followed on and was now also 
in the gallery" with Mr. Barton, Gdmes and a few 
others. 

“Mr. Sheriff,” said Junie, “you are fairly de- 
feated. The hour is past.” 

“Mr. Barton,” said the sheriff, “what is my 
duty in such a case ? ” 

“Mrs. Milson is right,” replied Mr. Barton. 
“The hour is past. You were ordered to perform 
the execution within certain hours, but you have 
failed.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


476 

^^What must I do then ? ” 

can tell you,” exclaimed Junie. have 
found that out long since. You can do nothing 
till the next court.” 

^^She is correct,” said Mr. Barton to the 
sheriff. ‘Tf you had possession of the prisoner 
now, and were to execute him, you would be 
guilty of murder.” 

“I am glad,” said the sheriff, ^^that such is the 
law. Mrs. Milson, I dare not express my feel- 
ings to you.” 

understand you,” interrupted Junie. ‘‘No 
apology is necessary. You have done nothing 
more than your duty. I assure you that I have 
not the slightest feeling of ill-will toward you. 
But this is one time that justice has triumphed 
over law.” 

“But, Mrs. Milson/’ asked the sheriff, “what 
do you propose next ? ” 

“I have accomplished what I proposed,” she 
replied. “My object was to gain time. I believe 
that before the next court God will answer my 
prayers. Day and night I have besought my 
Heavenly Father to bring the murderer to light. 
I have not lost faith in Him. So, my programme 
is ended, and my work is finished.” 

“At this moment Dr. Archers messenger 
arrived. Sick as he was he had pushed on. In 
answer to his inquiry, Mr. Barton was pointed 
out, to whom he delivered the letter, which was 
hastily read. 


FIERY TRIALS. 477 

^’Good news ! ’’ cried Mr. Barton, lie then 
read the letter aloud. 

^^Bless the Lord, 0 my soul ! ’’ exclaimed 
Junie, winding her arms around Milsons neck. 

could not believe that a just God would per- 
mit you to suffer.’’ 

Junie suddenly became sick,and had to be put 
to bed. The excitement of the day coupled 
with this last news was more than she could 
endure. 

The mob perceiving that something strange 
had occurred, went into the yard and gathered 
around the gallery. Mr. Barton then entered 
into an explanation. 

^^My fellow-citizens,” he said, ^^ordinarily mob 
law should be discountenanced. It is something 
to be dreaded. It demoralizes public sentiment 
— it subverts social order when men rise up in 
arms and acting on the authority of powder and 
shot, bid defiance to the courts of our country. 
The law must be respected and obeyed.” 

Some one cried out : 

^^Do you want John Milson hung ? ” 

‘T was going to say,” replied Mr. Barton, ^That 
while ordinarily we must have reverence for our 
judicial bodies and respect for their decisions, yet 
in this one instance, fellow-citizens, you have 
justice and right on your side. Y’ou have this 
day performed a righteous deed in the sight of 
Heaven. This is one instance that justified 
‘doing evil that good might come.’ You have 


4;8 FIERY TRIALS. 

rescued an innocent man from death. For this 
letter which I hold in my hand informs me that 
at least the trail of the murderer has been 
discovered.” 

‘^Who is it ? ” cried a dozen voices. 

do not know,” replied Mr. Barton. will 
read you the letter, which contains all the infor- 
mation I have on the subject.” 

At the conclusion of Dr. Archer’s letter, the 
mob gave three cheers for John Milson. Then 
Mr. Grimes said : 

^‘Mr. Barton, tell these gentlemen whether 
John Milson is safe or not. They’ll never leave 
here till they know he’s out of danger.” 

‘^He is certainly safe,” replied Mr. Barton, 
^Till the next court meets ; and before that I 
hope we will have the real murderer.” 

By this time the people who had been waiting 
at the gallows all day for the arrival of the 
victim, began to swarm into town, to see what 
was the matter — why they had been so awfully 
cheated. 

^^Who knows,” said Grimes, ^^but some fools in 
them croAvds might take a notion to hang the 
prisner. We’ll not leave till they’re all gone.” 

Grimes then sent half of his men out to 
inform the crowds that ^There’d be no bangin’ 
that day.” When the people understood it they 
began to leave ; and before sunset TTolly Springs 
Avore its usual air. 

Before Mr. Grimes disbanded his mob, Mil- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


479 

son stood on the gallery steps, and in a voice 
trembling with emotion thanked them for saving 
his life. His feelings overpowered him. He 
stopped short, and then Grimes said : 

^Tle’s to full to talk. We’ll excuse him. So 
three cheers, and then go home.” 

This was done, and the men dispersed. But 
Mr. Grimes said he must tell ^^Miss Junie” good- 
by. So Milson conducted him to his wife’s room. 

^^God bless you, my dear friend,” said Junie, 
taking his rough hands in hers and kissing them, 
owe you a debt that I can never pay.” 

‘‘0 shucks, gal,” said the rude, blunt man, 
^^youTl make me ashamed o’ myself.” And he 
hastily brushed an unbidden, rebellious tear from 
his eye. aint use to this kind o’ thing. 
You ken ask God to bless me if you want to, but 
as to bein’ in debt, you don’t owe me a thing — 
nary red cent. An’ if this here boy o’ yourn 
ever gits into sich another scrape, jest let Joab 
Grimes know an’ he’ll be in for it again. Now 
let me go afore I cry like a baby. Good-by.” 
And Grimes gave them both a hearty shake of 
the hand, and then like a giant strode out of the 
room. 

Mr. Barton and the sheriff were in the gallery 
talking; and as soon as Grimes had gone they 
called Milson out. 

^•Milson,” said Mr. Barton, ^^you know of 
course that you are not properly and legally at 
liberty. The sheriff has the right to hold you in 
custody.” 


48o 


FIERY TRIALS. 


understand that, Mr. Barton. I surrender 
myself, and cheerfully submit to legal authority.” 

^‘Well, then, I advise you as a friend to go 
quietly back to jail, and patiently await further 
developments. I hope in a few days, or rather in 
a few hours, this mystery will be solved, and 
then you can come forth from prison without a 
stain on your character.” 

^Munie is sick,” said Milson. ^^Could I not 
have permission to remain with her at least till 
morning ?” 

^^What do you say, Mr. Barton ?” asked the 
sheriff. 

‘^You can do this,” said Mr. Barton to the 
sheriff : ‘T do not see that it is absolutely nec- 
essary for Milson to go hack to-night. But to go 
through the form of law, you can leave a guard, 
say of one man, at the house. In this particular 
case, that would be sufficient. You run no risk 
at all, as Milson would have made his escape sev- 
eral hours ago if he intended to do such a thing.” 

Accordingly this course was agreed upon, and 
the parties separated. 

When Milson returned to his room his wife 
gave him a full account in regard to the mob. 
She was not too sick to talk. She said : 

^^As soon as Dr. Archer informed me of your 
condemnation, and even while he was talking the 
thought flashed into my mind that you could be 
saved in spite of law. Sometimes I think the 
good Lord must have inspired me with the idea. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


481 

And looking back over the circumstances which 
have occurred, I am more convinced of it than 
ever. For it has so happened that the mob, if 
you will call it such, was the only thing that 
could have saved you. Well, anyhow the thought 
occurred to me, and I firmly believed there were 
enough honest men, men who did not think you 
guilty, who could be induced to save you. But 
I had to fulfill my engagement before I could act 
with the necessary freedom. After our marriage 
I approached our mutual friend Mr. Grimes on 
the subject. It seems to me that I can see the 
workings of divine providence all along through 
our trials, if you had not been thrown from 
your horse at the school-house, you would not 
have gotten acquainted with Mr. Grimes. But 
you remember how frequently he came to see 
you while you were sick. He took a fancy to 
you; and the truth is you have not a better 
friend in the country than that ‘diamond in the 
rough’ — Joab Grimes. He sent several of his 
children to school to me, and was delighted at 
the advancement they made in their studies. 
When I made the proposition to him to try to 
save you by means of a mob, you ought to have 
seen the great giant rise up with his eyes fairly 
flashing — looking like, I imagine, Richard the 
Lion-Hearted ; and he raised his hand and said, 
‘Miss Junie, I’ll do it or die. I shan’t allow an 
innocent friend to be hung like a dog. I know I 
ken find enough men in Marshall county to stop 


FIERY trials. 


482 

sich a shameful thing. ITl tell ye if thar is a 
jest God in the heavens I’ll save John Milson. 
He shall never be hung as long as thar is a spark 
0’ life in Joab Grimes’ body.’ When Mr. Grimes 
said this I felt safe. He and I went to work then 
to enlist others. I had friends, and you had 
friends, who readily engaged to undertake the 
rescue. It was not long before we had about a 
hundred who I knew could be relied on. Mr. 
Grimes said these were enough. To use his own 
language, H ken take them men. Miss Junie, an’ 
whip out the balance o' Marshall county. Now, 
gal, jest go hack and rest easy till the day comes 
an’ Milson ’ll come out 0’ that jail a free man, or 
you’ll see many a bloody feller lyin’ around the 
door.’ It was only occasionally I felt the least 
uneasy. I went out yesterday to see Mr. Grimes, 
who told me that the mob would he certain to be 
on hand in time. And you know the rest. I 
would not tell you of my intentions, because I 
was afraid you would oppose me. Besides I 
wanted to shield your character. No one can 
say that you had anything to do with raising the 
mob. If there is any disgrace in it I shall bear 
it all.” 

^^But what,” asked Milson, ^^did you expect 
would happen after you had rescued me? You 
certainly knew I would not be legally free ?” 

Yes, I knew that. I have a kinsman in Jack- 
son, who is a lawyer, and I corresponded with 
him as to legal points, as I did not wish in any 


FIERY TRIALS. 


4S3 

way to compromise Mr. Barton and Dr. Archer. 
I did not think much about the future. My ob- 
ject was to prevent ^mur execution to-day. But 
it is all right. I have no doubt that your inno- 
cence will soon be established, to the satisfaction 
of all.” 

While Milson and Junie were thus talking, Dr. 
Archer was coming on toward Holly Springs 
with his prisoner. A man of his temperament 
could not but be in a state of excitement. He 
was fearful that his messenger would not be 
in time, and if he should not, it made him shud- 
der to think of the consequences. The very 
thought caused the Doctor unconsciously to apply 
vigorously the spur to his horse. His uneasiness 
was not removed till late in the evening when in 
a few miles of Holly Springs he began to meet 
the people coming from town. He knew what it 
meant ; and he almost dreaded to ask a question. 
But he soon learned that no execution had taken 
place, and then a great burden was lifted from 
his heart. At last he met an acquaintance who 
gave him all the particulars of the rescue. After 
this he rode leisurely along, thinking of the strange 
circumstance which had occurred. 

“Now,” he thought, “Junie’ s madness is all 
clear. Who could dare to say that she has not 
been an instrument in the hands of the living 
God. True it was an illegal measure ; but God’s 
ways are not as our ways. In his sight a thing 
may be just and right which is contrary to 


484 FIERY TRIALS. 

human laws. There is no doubt of it in this case. 
Anyhow, praise be to the Lord, for the fact that 
Milson was not put to death.” 

The Doctor had several times tried to induce 
Rommie Paine to make a confession. But the 
boy had fallen into a state of sullenness similar 
to that of the animal called by the masses a “pos- 
sum.” He said to the Doctor that he had told 
all he knew, and he would not talk about it any 
more. So the Doctor was forced to let him alone. 
They rode on in silence Friday evening till they 
reached town. The boy was confined in jail and 
Dr. Archer went home. He would tell nothing 
he said to his family and Milson till the next day. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

On the next morning which was Saturday 
Junie had recovered her customary health. She 
looked cheerful and happy. Dr. Archer dreaded 
to inform her of the arrest of her brother as a 
murderer. It would be another great shock, and 
he was fearful of the effects of so many disasters. 
But it would be impossible to keep her long in ig- 
norance of what had occurred. So he thought he 
would better break this awful news himself. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


485 

Accordingly after breakfast he requested her and 
Milson to accompany him to the parlor. When 
they were seated the Doctor said : 

^^Miss Junie, you must prepare yourself for 
more bad news.” 

She looked at Milson with an expression of 
anguish, and turned pale. 

‘Ts he not safe yet?’' she asked. ‘T thought 
you were on the track of the murderer.” 

^‘So I was.” 

^^And has he escaped,” interrupted Junie. 

‘‘No, not escaped,” replied Dr. Archer. “He 
has been arrested, and is now confined in jail. 
He was brought in last night about dark.” 

“How is that bad news ?” asked Junie. “I 
think that is good news.” 

“But poor child, I may as well tell you, that 
this person, who, if he did not commit the deed 
himself, is an accomplice, is related to you.” 

Again Junie became pale. Hut presently she 
said : 

“Go on. Doctor, tell who it is. I can stand to 
hear it.” 

“It is your brother.” 

“Oh, my God !” exclaimed Junie wringing her 
hands in agony, “will my misfortunes never 
cease ?” 

But as soon as the first paroxysm of grief was 
over, and Junie’s tranquility was comparatively 
restored. Dr. Archer explained^ the particulars 
with which the reader is acquainted. Milson 


FIERY TRIALS. 


486 

and his wife listened with painful attention. As 
soon as the Doctor had concluded, Junie said : 

^‘As sure as you live, Dr. Archer, if Rommie 
did that thing, Bertram was the instigator.” 

^^We have no legal proof,” said the Doctor, 
^That Rommie actually committed the murder, 
but I feel certain that he knows something about 
it.” 

^‘Where is Bertram ? ” asked Junie. 
have no idea.” 

^^Does Rommie know ? ” 

‘^He says not.” 

r'^^What will be done with Rommie ? ” 

cannot tell. He will be examined either 
to-day or Monday. I think though you had better 
prepare yourself to hear that he is an accomplice, 
if nothing worse.” 

^^God’s will be done ! ” said Junie with tears 
streaming down her face. But in a few moments 
she complained of sickness, and was forced to 
retire to bed. She could no longer bear up under 
such calamities. Before many hours her sickness 
had developed into fever ; and a physician was 
called in. The sheriff concluded that humanity 
demanded that Milson should not be taken from 
the bed-side of his suffering wife ; and feeling 
that he was assuming no risk, even removed the 
guard, thus leaving his late prisoner to do as he 
pleased. Here for the present we leave Milson 
and Junie. 

Dr. Archer at once went to the office of Mr. 


FIERY TRIALS. 487 

Barton, in order to hold a consultation as to the 
course to be pursued. After he had related the 
particulars of the arrest, Mr. Barton said : 

^‘From my point of view, Dr. Archer, the 
evidence is not sufficient to secure the boy’s 
conviction.” 

have been fearful of that myself,” replied 
Dr. Archer. ^^But there is no doubt in my mind 
that he is privy to the murder.” 

‘^The circumstances are very suspicious, that 
is true. But, Doctor, the boy’s conduct in Mr. 
Clarke’s store has made an impression upon you 
to which, I think, you give too much legal weight. 
If I had seen the boy’s actions, I would doubt- 
less have the very same impression. But I am 
free from anything of that sort, and I am looking 
only at the naked facts in the case. We can 
prove only this : that the peddler’s watch was 
found in the boy’s possession. He says he 
bought it. That may be so, or not. If we could 
find the man from whom he got it, we would be 
on the right track. But he refuses to tell, or 
rather says, he does not know. So I see no way 
to find the man ; and right there the matter 
comes to an end.” 

^^But he had another watch, and says that he 
has others at home.” 

^‘Yes ; but you have not found them. We 
must at once get out a search-warrant, and search 
the boy’s room.” 

attended to that a few moments ago. I 


488 FIERY TRIALS. 

suppose the constable is on the way now to Col. 
Paine’s.” 

^^Very well,” replied Mr. Barton, ^^some other 
evidence may be obtained from that quarter. 
But here is another difficulty, Doctor : it will 
have to be proved that the silver watch belonged 
to the peddler. There is no way to do that. 
The hoy had a gold watch with the peddler’s 
name on it, and sold it for much less than its real 
value. He told falsehoods in regard to his name 
and place of residence. All this leaves room for 
strong suspicion, that is true. In a moral point 
of view I am satisfied that the hoy knows some- 
thing about the murder. But I fear our legal 
evidence is insufficient. My opinion is more con- 
firmed that young Paine is merely a tool in the 
hands of Bertram ; but how to establish the fact — 
that is the question. If the boy had not been ar- 
rested so hastily, probably something more could 
have been elicited.” 

^^But there was no time to be lost, Mr. Barton. 
If I had known anything about Mrs. Milson’s in- 
tentions, I would not have acted so hastily. I 
confess I was so eager to obtain some clew to the 
mystery which would be favorable to Milson, 
that I did not take time to reflect as I ought to 
have done.” 

/T suppose,” replied Mr. Barton, ‘That if I had 
been in your place, I would have acted just as 
you did. But it cannot be helped now. We will 
have to do the best we can with the testimony in 


FIERY TRIALS. 


489 

our possession. Let us wait till the constable re- 
turns from Col. Paine’s, and hear his report.” 

In about three hours after this interview occur- 
red, the officer returned, and reported the results 
of his search. No one was at home except Mrs. 
Bertram, who inquired eagerly about her father 
and husband. They had been gone for about a 
week, she said, and she felt considerable uneasi- 
ness. The officer then exhibited his search-war- 
rant, and requested her to lead the way to Rom- 
mie’s room. This she at first refused to do; but 
he told her it would be folly to resist, and that he 
would have to search the whole house. Finally 
she yielded and pointed out the boy’s room. But 
the result w^as, that nothing could be discovered 
that would throw any light on the mystery. The 
officer said that he had evaded the lady’s inter- 
rogatories as to the object of the search, and had 
not acquainted her with the fact that her brother 
was in jail.” 

On hearing this information, the Doctor and 
Mr. Barton sat in thoughtful silence for several 
minutes. Then the Doctor said : 

‘T think we would better go to trial on the tes- 
timony which we have.” 

‘‘We can but try it,” replied Mr. Barton. “It 
is like striking in the dark though. But I do not 
see anything else we can do. The trial itself 
may develop something.” 

Accordingly they arranged with the magistrate 
to have the trial on Monday, and then they sep- 
arated. 


490 


FIERY TRIALS. 


Col. Paine returned home Saturday afternoon. 
Gerie met him at the door, and without making 
any inquiry in regard to the prolonged absence of 
himself and her husband began to tell him about 
searching Rommie’s room. 

^‘Where is Rommie ?” asked the Colonel. 

^‘The officer would not tell me.’' 

Then Gerie noticed her father’s troubled ex- 
pression. 

^^Where is Mr. Bertram?” she asked. 

know not,” replied her father in a manner 
that made her turn pale. 

^^Father, what is the matter ? Where did you 
leave Mr. Bertram ?” 

^^He left me at Memphis.” 

^‘Left you ! 0 father, what do you mean?” 
mean just what I say. Gerie, my daughter, 
I dislike to tell you ; but the plain truth is Ber- 
tram is a consummate scoundrel.” 

^‘0, father ! father!” she exclaimed in wild 
excitement, ^Svhat is it ? ” 

^^My child,” said the Colonel, ‘T fear that 
Bertram is a member of a gang of robbers and 
horse thieves.” 

‘Tou don’t know that ? ” she said. 

could not just now prove it; but I strongly 
suspect it.” 

‘‘Father,” said Gerie, biting her lip in despera- 
tion, “I don’t believe it. He is too noble and 
high-minded to be accused of any such thing as 
that.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


491 

^^Noble, indeed ! ” almost hissed the Colonel 
through his clenched teeth. ^Tlehas ruined me.” 

‘‘0, father,” she cried, while she looked as 
white as a corpse, ^^you are killing me — how has 
he?— tell me.” 

The Colonel then gave her an account of Ber- 
tram’s conduct in Memphis. Then he said : 

‘‘The villain has no doubt left the country ; 
and you need never expect to see him again. If 
you do, it will be when he is hand-cuffed in jail. 
He has,” continued the Colonel, “ reduced us to 
beggary. And now from what you tell me, I 
am satisfied that he has got Rommie into some 
serious difficulty. I must now go at once to 
town and find out something about it.” 

Accordingly he left. 

Poor Gerie ! It is hard for any woman to 
believe that she has married a villain. She can 
find excuses for him when no one else can. 
When, at last, the awful fact is too palpable to 
be denied, it does not eradicate love from her 
heart. If the villainous husband loves the wife, 
in ninety -nine cases out of a hundred, she will 
cling to the unworthy object of her affections, 
under the most disgraceful circumstances. When 
all others desert him and treat him with derision 
and contempt — yea, when angry justice stands 
over him with drawn sword to execute the right- 
eous sentence of law, that weeping wife would 
throw her trembling arms around him, and receive 
the stroke upon her own fragile frame. There is 


492 


FIERY TRIALS. 


no doubt that woman’s love is far broader^ deeper, 
purer, truer, than that of man. Let a woman 
be guilty of any sort of crime, and the husband 
would be the first to cast her off in scorn. No 
tears of hers could ever reinstate herself in his 
heart. But how different it is with woman ! 
The husband may be a degraded, worthless 
wretch — outlawed on account of his crime ; and 
yet, if he only loves his wife, the consciousness 
of that fact would cause her to stand by him to 
the last. When the Great Books are opened in 
the day of Final Accounts, it is not hazardous 
to affirm that in the Book of Life, there will be 
found written the names of more women than of 
men. 

It could not be expected then that Gerie would 
suddenly turn against her unworthy husband. 
He had not, she thought, proved false to her. 
She loved the polished villain with all the ardor 
of her nature ; and she could hardly believe her 
father’s statement. She fondly hoped that Ber- 
tram would return, and prove that he was no 
villain. 

When Col. Paine returned from town, Gerie 
anxiously inquired in reference to Rommie. The 
Colonel told her that he went to the jail and 
questioned his son about the crime with which he 
was charged, but the boy would tell him no more 
than he had told Hr. Archer. Rommie said he 
knew nothing about Bertram. All three had 
gone to Memphis together, and Rommie being in 


FIERY TRIALS. 


493 

the habit of taking care of himself, had left them. 

And now,’' said the Colonel, ^^he is to be tried 
for the murder of that peddler; and my notion 
is that, if he is guilty, Bertram was the leader.” 

‘Ts there any proof, father, that Rommie did 
it?” 

^*No. But from all I could learn, there are 
some circumstances of a suspicious character 
against him. I can find out nothing more till 
Monday.” 

•i* •> V ^ V *15 

Saturday night came. About eight o’clock 
Mr. Barton received a message to go to the hotel 
immediately. Dr. Archer also was summoned. 
The two arrived at the hotel about the same 
time. They w^ere met by the proprietor who led 
them to the register, and pointed to the last name 
written. There it was— W. Z. Bolakd. 

^^That man arrived about an hour ago,” said 
the landlord in a low tone. ^‘When he registered 
I was somehow struck with the name. I began 
to study about it ; and after a little it occurred 
to me that this was the very man for whom you 
advertised.” 

^^This is certainly the man,” replied Mr. Bar- 
ton. ^^Dr. Archer, where is that handkerchief? 
Yfe must have it at once.” 

^Tt is at my house,” replied the Doctor, ^^care- 
fully locked up. I will have it here in a few 
minutes.”! 

And the impulsive Doctor started off at a 


FIERY TRIALS. 


494 

rapid gait. It was not long before he returned. 
Then Mr. Barton said to the landlord : 

^‘Where is the man ?” 

^TTe is in his room.” 

^Tlease ask him/’ said Mr. Barton, ^To have 
the kindness to receive two gentlemen, who want 
to see him on business of importance.” 

The landlord complied with the request, and 
in a moment Dr. Archer and Mr. Barton were 
introduced to Mr. Boland. He was a very plainly 
dressed man, having the air of one who had been 
raised in the backwoods. If the science of 
physiognomy could be relied on, he was an honest 
man. He had the appearance of a stout, hale 
man of about sixty years of age. His general 
appearance made a favorable impression upon 
both Mr. Barton and Dr. Archer. Presently Mr. 
Barton said : 

trust, Mr. Boland, you will not think me 
impudent if I ask you a few questions. If you 
only knew the object I have in view, I think you 
would have no objection to answering.” 

^‘Lem me light my pipe, gentlemen,” was the 
reply, ^‘and then you may ask as many questions 
as you please ; but mind ye, ITl be the judge 
whether ITl answer or no. Now go ahead,” he 
said as the smoke began to curl up from his pipe. 

^^Where are you from?” asked Mr. Barton, 
^That is, where do you live?” 

^T’ve no perticler objection to that question, 
stranger— I’m from Texas.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


495 


‘‘What is now your destination ?” 

‘•You mean whar I’m agoin’ to ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“I’ye no objection to that question either — 
I’m on my WHy to old North Caroliner, whar I 
was born.” 

“Well, were you ever in this part of the coun- 
try before ?” 

“I’ve bin near this town before, but never in 
it.” 

“When were you near here ?” 

“Wal, sir,^’ he said, “Lem me see. Yes it was 
just exactly.” 

He had mentioned the very day of the mur- 
der. Mr. Barton now felt sure that this man 
could tell something about the tragedy. So he 
drew out the pocket-handkerchief. 

“Mr. Boland,” he said, “do you recognize 
that?” 

The man gazed at it for a moment, and looked 
at his name in the corner, while his two visitors 
were watching him with the most intense interest. 

“This is mine,” replied Boland. “Them letters 
was worked in thar by my darter Sal ; but see 
here, stranger, whar did you get it ?” 

“Where did you lose it ?” 

“Wal, I can’t exacly think now.” 

“I wdsh you would try to think, Mr. Boland,” 
said Mr. Barton. “This is a matter of more im- 
portance than you imagine it is. But I will try 
to refresh your memory a little. Do you not re- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


496 

member crossing the Tallahatchie river some fif- 
teen or twenty miles below here at the time you 
have said?” 

‘‘Look here, men,” said Mr. Boland, “I don’t 
like this sort 0’ questionin’. I’m an honest man 
a’travelin’ peaceably through the country; and I 
don’t know what you’re a drivin’ at, onless you’re 
a tryin’ to trap me some how.” 

“Mr. Boland, you look like an honest man, and 
I am laying no trap for you. I will tell you 
plainly, that handkerchief was found by myself 
in a hollow tree near the spot where a most 
shocking murder was committed. Yesterday a 
man whom everybody believes to be innocent, 
would have been executed but for the interfer- 
ence of a mob. But Mr. Boland, will you have 
the kindness to explain how your handkerchief 
happened to be in that tree ? You must have 
been there.” 

“Stranger,” said the Texan, “lem me ask you 
a question or two — time about is the far thing 
you know.” 

“Very well ; proceed,” said Mr. Barton. 

“You say a man was to a bin hung yistiddy 
fur the murder ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Only one ?” 

“That was all.” 

“An’ he was innocent, you say ?” 

“That is the general belief.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


497 


you suspicion anybody else ?” 

‘‘Yes.” 

“Wal, do you suspicion me ?” 

‘T have said,” replied Mr. Barton, “that you 
look like an honest man. You have thus far 
given no good reason to suspect you. But that 
handkerchief proves that you were very near to 
the spot where the murder was committed.” 

“Wal, stranger, didn’t you never suspicion a 
boy?” 

“Yes. A boy was confined in jail last night, 
who is strongly suspected.” 

“Wal, you’re on the right track then.” 

“How do you know?” asked Mr. Barton. If 
you can throw any light on the subject we would 
be more than thankful. You will save an inno- 
cent man.” 

In course, stranger,” said the Texan coolly, 
“honesty’s the best policy as the sayin’ is. If I 
weren’t to tell you somethin’ you’d begin to sus- 
picion me, wouldn’t ye ?” 

“To be sure I would,” said Mr. Barton. 

“An’ jest as carcumstances now is, stranger, 
you’d have the right to. But one more question, 
stranger, is it a mighty uglv boy you’ve got in 
jail ?” 

“Yes, sir, ugly enough.” 

“You know his name, stranger ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Is his name Rommie?” 

“Thank God !” cried Dr. Archer, “Milson is 
saved.” 


498 


FIERY TRIALS. 


“That is his name,” said Mr. Barton. 

“Then, you’ve got the right one, an’ that clears 
me. 

“You can tell us all about it then ?” said Mr. 
Barton. 

“I ken tell some things about it, if I was in 
court.” 

Mr. Barton then briefly explained the matter, 
so that the Texan could understand that they 
were looking up testimony against the boy. 

“Wal, I understand,” said Boland, “an’ you is 
entitled to all the information that I ken give. 
If I ken be of any service to you in this thing 
Tm willin’. Jestice ought ter be done. So I’ll 
tell you all I ken in a mighty few minits.” 

“Wal,” said the Texan, after re-lighting his 
pipe, “you see I was on the way baok home from 
Caroliner, whar I’d bin after some money that 
was left to my ole ’oman by her brother that died 
some time ago. It was eight hundred dollars or 
nine hundred dollars — along thar somewhars ; 
but I only got four hundred dollars, an’ I’m a 
goin’ back to Caroliner now fur the balance. 
Thar was some law pints in the business, an’ I 
have to be a witness. But never mind that. I 
got back to this State, an’ traveled along till I 
got in some eight or nine miles of that river you 
spoke of a while ago, an’ thar my horse gin out. 
He was a good-sized Mustang pony, purty tough 
too ; but that long ride was jest a leetle too much 
fur his bottom,’' 


FIERY TRIALS. 499 

“Well, never mind about the pony,” said Mr. 
Barton. “You left him I suppose.” 

“Yes. I sold ’im fur ten dollars, which was a 
heap less than be was wwth. But I sold ’im to 
a man that lived near the road. If you don’t 
ble’ve that, stranger, I ken find the house agin’, 
an’ if the man’s alive yet, an’ I guess he is, he’ll 
tell you that I’m a tellin’ the truth.” 

“I have no doubt of it,” said Mr. Barton, who 
saw that he would have to let the rough Texan 
tell his story in his way, “so proceed.” 

“Wal, I started off afoot thinkin’ I mout pick 
up a chunk of a horse from somebody else, as 
the man I sold my pony to didn’t have any horse 
that suited me; fur he had nothin’ raly but 
three or four ole mules that I wouldn’t ride — 
they war too poke-easy fur my use. So I started 
off afoot, an’ traveled along till I got in two or 
three mile of that river, an’ thar I inquired the 
way. I was told to take a left-hand road jest 
as I got over the river, that, I was told, was the 
nearest route to whar I wanted to go. So I got 
to the river, an’ jest waded over — fur it was 
mighty shaller — not knee-deep. Then I tuck the 
left-hand road which was an’ ole lookin’ road. I 
hadn’t got more’n half a mile before I begun to 
feel kinder uneasy. You know, stranger, when 
a man’s got four or five hundred dollars in his 
pocket, an’ is a travelin’ a lonesome road, ’spec- 
ially in a swamp, he somehow thinks about rob- 
bers. Wal, that was my experience. You’ve 


500 FIERY TRIALS. 

bin along that ole rode, stranger, whar you found 
my kerchief? ” 

“Yes, I know all about it,” replied Mr. Barton. 

“Wal, you know thar is powerful thickets in 
some places on both sides o’ the road. I got to 
thinking how easy it’ud be to rob a feller in sich 
places. Stranger, you mout think it foolish-like ; 
but I jest concluded that I’d travel that lonesome 
road no further. I thought it ’ud be best to go 
back an’ tak the reg’lar road that I was told led 
to this town o’ yourn. So I turned back. When 
I’d got three hundred yards or sich a matter, I 
heard the clatter of horses’ feet behind me. 
Stranger, I tell you, I didn’t care to meet nobody 
in sich a place that I didn’t know. So I thought 
I’d step behind that tree whar you found the 
kerchief. It was holler, as you know, stranger. 
Wal, thar was a knot-hole in that tree, next the 
road, big enough to look out an’ see what was a 
goin’ on. I’d not bin thar more’n a minit before 
I hearn a wagon cornin’ along from towards the 
river ; an’ right opsite that tree the wagon was 
halted by two fellers — one a man, an’ to’ther a 
boy. I was not more’n ten feet off, an’ I tell 
you, stranger, I felt mighty ticklish. The man 
said : ^Git out, an’ give up your watches, money 
an’ horses.’ The man in the wagon said nothin’ 
that I could hear ; but it appeared that he was 
a drawin a pistol. In a few seconds I hearn the 
man on horse-back holler out, ^shoot ’im Rommie.’ 
That was what he said, shore as you’re born. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


SOI 

You know under some circumstances the memry 
is mighty powerful. I never will forget that 
name, to my dyin day,'* 

^^Did you hear no other name called ?’* inquired 
Mr. Barton. 

^‘No, that was all ; an* I’m shore that was it.” 

‘‘You are correct, Mr. Boland,” said Mr. Bar- 
ton. “Proceed.” 

“Wal, the feller said ‘shoot ’im Bommie,’ an’ 
immediately I hearn the report of a pistol, which 
I saw that boy aim ; an’ the man in the wagon 
seemed to a bin killed right away; he never 
groaned ; he must a bin shot in the head or 
heart.” 

“You did not examine to see, I suppose,” said 
Mr. Barton. 

“No, sir. You see, stranger, this was a ugly 
piece of business, an’ I didn’t keer to be mixed 
up with it. I was in a mighty ticklish place, 
you see.” 

“Proceed,” said Mr. Barton. 

“Wal, that boy an’ man went to work in a 
hurry. They busted open the trunks and took 
out watches, an’ then they onhitched the horses, 
an’ mounted an’ went otf in a hurry back the way 
they’d come.” 

“Why did you not try to prevent the murder ?’’ 
asked Mr. Barton. 

“Wal now you see, I was a stranger in these 
parts, an’ as I told you, I didn’t want to be mixed 
up with this ugly scrape. Besides, it was done 


502 


FIERY TRIALS. 


so quick I didn’t have time to interfere. I had 
only one pistol, an’ I could have killed only one 
of the rascals; an’ if I’d a done this, my karkass 
would a bin lying thar too in the road. So you 
see I couldn’t do nothin’,” 

‘‘Well,” said Mr. Barton, “whathappened when 
the robbers left?” 

“Wal, stranger, I tell ye I felt mighty peculiar 
like in that hollow tree. I at first thought I’d 
better go an’ see what damage had bin done. 
But I thought to myself — kinder whispered to 
myself — ^ ’spose somebody was to ride up an’ see 
you Bill Boland a foolin’ aroun’ that murdered 
man. You’d be arrested shore, an’ put in jail, 
an’ have to lie thar a long time, an’ then at last 
have to stand on nothin’ an’ pull hemp. The 
thought made me feel all-over-ish, kinder sick- 
like, stranger, so I arrove at the conclusion 
mighty quick, that I’d better make Bill Boland 
skeerce about thar. I lit out an’ went on in the 
drection the robbers tuck. I knowed they’d make 
tracks fast. I was afeared to go back the reglar 
road. Stranger, I tell ye, a man don’t hardly 
know what he’d do under sich carcumstances till 
he tries. If you’d a bin away out in Texas un- 
der them same carcumstances I reckon you’d a 
done about as I did. A man has a mighty anx- 
iety to save his own karkass, an’ it makes him 
kinder act foolish-like, an’ do the very thing that 
everybody says he oughtn’t to a done. Taint no 
use a talkin’ stranger ; you don’t know what you’d 


FIERY TRIALS. 


503 

do. It kinder looks like I ought to have tuck 
the reglar road, an’ a come to some house, an’ 
reported the thing. But don’t you see, I was 
afeard I’d he suspicioned? So I tuck the ole 
road, becaze I thought it was the nearest route 
away from that place. I walked as fast as I 
could. I traveled all night ; I wanted to put as 
big a distance as possible between Bill Boland 
an’ that holler tree. I ’spose I must a dropt this 
kerchief in that tree in my hurry to git away. 
Next day I bought me another horse ; but it was 
two or three days before I felt safe. I was a 
thinkin’ about somebody a ridin’ up behind me 
an’ ares tin’ me on suspicion. But I went on ’thout 
any accident. An’ now, stranger, God bein’ my 
witness, that’s the truth, the whole truth, an’ 
nothin’ but the truth. I ken tell you no more.” 

Dr. Archer had been listening to this recital 
of facts with almost breathless attention. There 
could be no doubt that the rough old Texan had 
told the truth. So when he had finished Dr. 
Archer said : 

‘^God be praised ! the mystery is solved at 
last.” 

^^Would you be able,” said Mr. Barton to the 
Texan, ^To recognize those two robbers and mur- 
derers again if you were to see them ?” 

^T’m pretty certain I would,” replied the 
Texan. ^^I seen thar faces good ; an’ you know 
under sich carcumstances a man’s not apt to for- 
git faces. I’d know that boy in the middle of 


504 


FIERY TRIALS. 


anywhars ; for he is jest one of the ugliest var- 
mints, in the shape of a human bein^, that ever 
I seen.’’ 

^‘Suppose, Mr. Boland, that boy were in com- 
pany with ten or fifteen other hoys of his age, do 
you believe you could recognize him ?” asked 
Mr. Barton. 

^T’m certain I could.” 

“Well then,” said Mr. Barton, “we are going 
to have the trial on Monday, and I would like 
for you to recognize him in open court among 
some other boys that I will have present.” 

“All right,” said the Texan. “If I ken be of 
any sarvice in this thing I don’t mind staying a 
day or two.” 

“I do not see,” said Mr. Barton, “how you 
could have the heart to leave, when you alone can 
remove the stain from an innocent man’s 
character.” 

“I understand that, stranger. Bill Boland is 
not a wile varmint. I’d stay here a whole year 
before a innocent man should be hung, when I 
could prevent its bein’ done.” 

“I am satisfied of that,” said Mr. Barton. 

At this point Dr. Archer said : 

“I had thought that it would be prudent to 
bring Milson and Mr. Boland face to face, to- 
night, to see if Mr. Boland can identify him ; but 
I suppose it is useless. It is clear now that 
Milson is not the guilty party.” 

“We will have Milson in court on Monday,” 


FIERY TRIALS. 505 

said Mr. Barton, it should be necessary.” 

Then the parties separated till Monday, after* 
Mr. Barton had asked the Texan to say nothing 
about the matter. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

The rescue of John Milson by a mob raised 
through the efforts of a young woman — a young 
bride too, created a great sensation in Holly 
Springs. It was a startling event. On Satur- 
day there was another sensation when it became 
known that Rommie Paine had been arrested 
and confined in jail. It was the general topic of 
conversation ; and there were many and conflict- 
ing conjectures as to what would be the final re- 
sult. People at last began to suspect Bertram, 
from the fact that he and Rommie were seen to- 
gether so frequently. So the inquiry was, where 
could Bertram be. No one knew. He had not 
been seen in town for the past eight or ten days. 
There were therefore good grounds for suspicion. 
Many people now remembered that they never 
did like Bertram’s looks. Even those who were 
on intimate terms with him, said that there al- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


506 

ways appeared to be something wrong about him. 
So, people talked, and guessed, and made predic- 
tions, on Saturday and Sunday. The congrega- 
tions that Sabbath were not very large in Holly 
Springs. Men gathered in groups on the streets 
to discuss the events of the last few hours, and 
to wonder what the near future would bring forth. 
They were impatient for Monday to come. The 
hours dragged by. 

At last the Sabbath was gone, and the much- 
wished-for Monday was ushered in by an un- 
clouded sun ; and now expectation was on tip-toe. 

It was ten o’clock before the examination by 
the Magistrate’s court began. Rommie Paiiie was 
brought forth from the jail and conducted into 
the court-room. All eyes were turned upon him 
as he entered ; but the boy stood the ordeal. 
In the presence of the vast crowd that occupied 
every available seat, and filled up the aisles, he 
seemed to be unconcerned. 

The man Scaliger from the establishment of 
F. H. Clarke & Co., was the first to occupy the 
witness-stand. He made his statement and was 
then cross-examined by the lawyer whom Col. 
Paine had employed. Dr. Archer was next ex- 
amined. When the testimony of these two had 
been taken there was a pause. Rommie’ s law- 
yer then said : 

“If this is all the evidence that can be pro- 
duced, I am justified in demanding the acquittal 
of my client. There is not the slightest proof 


FIERY TRIALS. 507 

that this boy knows anything about the murder.” 

At this point Mr. Barton begged leave to in- 
terrupt the gentleman in order to say that he had 
another witness to put upon the stand. 

“I thought this was all the testimony you had,” 
said the lawyer. 

^‘No,” replied Mr. Barton, ‘^we have one more 
witness.” 

“Bring him in then.” 

“The constable,” said Mr. Barton, “will please 
go to the hotel, and bring Mr. W. Z. Boland.” 

“Why, that is the man,” said the lawyer in 
surprise, “for whom you advertised so exten- 
sively.” 

“The same,” quickly answered Dr. Archer, 
“and Providence has at last sent him to us.” 

“Now,” said Mr. Barton, “I expect the ac- 
cused to be identified by Mr. Boland. That every- 
thing may be done fairly, and to remove all 
grounds to suspect collusion, I have here in the 
court-room twelve or fifteen boys of Rommie 
Paine’s age and size. We will put these boys 
all together in front of the judge’s stand, and see 
if my witness can select Rommie. I do not know 
that he can do it; but we will make the trial. I 
want nothing but justice.” 

“If you are going to try experiments of that 
sort,’^ said Rommie’s lawyer, who was a little 
confused by this sudden and unexpected turn in 
affairs, “I will take the precautionary measures to 
prevent any one pointing out my client, or mak- 
ing him known in any way.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 


508 

^^Bring ia Mr. Boland, blindfolded and with 
his ears stopped, if you will,” said Mr. Barton. 

will be under obligations if you will take every 
possible precaution that you can think of, to pre- 
vent imposition.” 

^^We will blindfold him at the door, if you 
please,” said Rommie’s lawyer. 

^^Very well,” replied Mr. Barton. 

Presently the old Texan made his appearance 
at the door, and was blindfolded. When he was 
led in a few feet of the boys and halted, Rom- 
mie’s lawyer said : 

^^Before the bandage is removed from the eyes 
of this witness I want my client to exchange 
coats with some of the boys.” 

^^Certainly,” said Mr. Barton, and we will 
place Mr. Boland in such a position that he can- 
not possibly see them while they are exchanging.” . 

Rommie’s lawyer thought he was doing his 
client a great service in taking these precaution- 
ary measures, but he was only making the testi- 
mony stronger, and thus damaging his own case. 

When things were ready, Mr. Barton said : 

^‘Will you have the witness sworn before the 
attempted identification, or after ? ” 

‘Tt does not matter I suppose,” said Rommie’s 
lawyer. ^‘Proceed, and put him on his oath 
before he testifies.” 

^‘Very well,” said Mr. Barton. “Now, Mr. 
Boland,” he continued, “I want you as soon as 
the bandage is removed from your eyes to iden- 


FIERY TRIALS. 


509 

can, the boy whom you spoke to me 

about.” 

The bandage was then removed and Mr. Bar- 
ton said : 

‘^There are twelve or fifteen boys — which is 
the one ? ” 

The old Texan looked at them ; and without 
the least hesitation he stepped up to Rommie and 
said : 

^‘This is the boy. I’d know him in the middle 
of anywhars.” 

“Are you satisfied ? ” asked Mr. Barton. 

“I am satisfied that Mr. Boland is acquainted 
with my client. But I do not see that that 
amounts to anything.” 

“You will see presently,” said Mr. Barton. 
“Now let Mr. Boland be sworn.” 

When this was done Mr. Barton said : 

‘‘Now, Mr. Boland, just tell what you know 
about this case.” 

There was the most intense interest manifested 
as the honest old Texan gave the details of the 
bloody deed. No one listened with more painful 
curiosity than the accused boy. He evidently 
^vas trying to assume an air of indifference. But 
w^hen the Texan came to the expression “shoot 
him Rommie,” the boy was observed to slightly 
wince ; and throughout Boland’s story this was 
the nearest approach to self-betrayal. 

When Mr. Boland had finished, Mr. Barton 


FIERY TRIALS. 


5.10 

requested that Milson should be brought forward. 
He came and stood before the Texan. 

^^Mr. Boland, you stated that a man cried out 
^shoot him Rommie.’” 

^‘Yes sir, I did.’’ 

^^Would you know the man again if you were 
to see him ? ” 

. ^^Ondoubtedly I would.” 

‘^Well,” said Mr, Barton, pointing at Milson, 
•^^is that the man ? ” 

^‘Ho sir, that’s not the man.” 

At this the great crowd in the court-room raised 
a yell that almost shook the building. The court 
had not power enough to prevent this testimonial 
of joy at the complete vindication of John Mil- 
son. When order was restored Mr. Barton said : 

^^One more question Mr. Boland. Can you 
remember what sort of a horse the man was 
riding?” 

^^0, yes, I tuck in the whole thing. The horses 
hitched to the wagon was two iron-grays. That 
boy rode a dark-bay, an’ the man was on a large 
coal-black horse.” 

This explanation left no doubt on the public 
mind that the guilty wretch was Bertram ; for 
it was generally known that he rode a horse of 
that description. 

Mr. Barton now said to Bommie’s lawyer : 

^‘You can take the witness.” 

The lawyer accordingly began his cross-exam- 
ination ; and he tried in every possible way to 


FIERY TRIALS. 


511 

confuse the witness. But the attempt was in 
vain. The old Texan’s testimony could not be 
jostled. Even Col. Paine, who had witnessed 
the entire proceedings, felt that Boland had told 
the truth. 

The result was that misguided Rommie Paine 
was sent to jail to await his trial by the Circuit 
Court. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Our story will soon come to a close. 

Junie was confined to her bed for some days 
with the fever which had been brought on by 
great mental excitement. But with excellent 
medical attention and nursing she was restored 
to her usual health. 

It was not long before John Milson was legally 
released. 

One evening as they were all sitting around 
the fire at Dr. Archer s, they were talking of the 
remarkable events of the bygone months. Then 
the Doctor said to Milson and Junie: 

^^The good Lord has certainly brought you both 
through Fiery Trials. The reasons for his actions 
may never be known till the day of judgment 


FIERY TRIALS. 


512 

when all of us must stand before the Everlasting 
Throne and give an account of our earthly life. 
But I think both of you can discover the hand 
of the wise and merciful God in all the severe 
and strange trials through which you have passed. 
Some things are miraculous in your history, or at 
least appear so to those who look at the circum- 
stances from the Scriptural standpoint.” 

Then the Doctor mentioned circumstances 
which it seemed must have been directed by the 
Supreme Being; such, for instance, as finding 
the handkerchief of Mr. Boland in the hollow 
tree. To the world this appeared simply as a 
‘ducky accident,” but that was not his view of 
the case. 

When he paused Milson said: 

‘T think I also can recognize the hand of the 
Lord in my affairs. It required some calamity 
to arouse me to a just sense of my danger and 
duty. I was in a kind of stupor, which I can 
now easily perceive. If I had gone on in that 
state of lethargy I never would have investigated 
the Evidences of Christianity, and I would have 
lived and died in sin. I was thrown from my horse 
at the door of Junie’s school-house, and nearly 
killed ; and I ought to have taken warning from 
that misfortune, but I did not. I still kept on in 
the road to ruin. So God in wisdom and mercy 
brought me face to face with ignominious death, 
and then I came to myself like the prodigal son. 
It has been an awful, but no doubt a necessary 


FIERY TRIALS. 


513 

experience. The merciful God has been very 
kind to me in the midst of all my fiery trials, and 
I am thankful that I can sincerely say ^blessed 
be the name of the Lord.’ But, Doctor, I feel 
that I ought to do something for my kind Heav- 
enly Father; and I have made up my mind, if 
my dear Junie who has been so faithful and true 
and brave in all our trials, will give her consent 
I have made up my mind to preach the Gospel 
of Jesus Christ — I feel it my duty.” 

“Then God forbid,” said the young wife rising 
to her feet and taking both his hands in her own, 
“that I should offer any opposition. Indeed I 
have wished and prayed that you might be a 
minister. I will labor with you, my dear husband, 
in this glorious work, as long as it may please 
God to spare my life. I crave no higher honor 
in this world than to be the humble wife of a 
faithful minister.” 

“That is another good result,” said Dr. Archer, 
“which God has brought out of circumstances that 
once were so perplexing and distressing. Even 
in this life the ways of the Lord become manifest. 
Your determination, my dear boy, is not at all 
surprising to me, and I heartily approve of it. 
You could not employ your energies in a more 
exalted work. I have no doubt that God has 
called you to it ; and the sooner you go at it the 
better.” 

“I am willing to begin. Doctor, just so soon as 
I am authorized by the proper ecclesiastical 
authority.” 


514 


FIERY TRIALS. 


In due course of time Milson was ordained a 
minister of Jesus Christ. He thought it best to 
move away from Marshall county, and Dr. Archer 
agreed with him. So he and his devoted wife 
moved to Alabama. Milson became a useful and 
a powerful preacher. J unie was indeed a ^^help- 
meet’’ in their field of labor. None was more faith- 
ful in visiting the sick and comforting the dying. 
She became more dear to Milson as the years 
rolled by, and he firmly believed that he could 
discover the hand of the Lord in his marriage. 

We return to Col. Paine. Some weeks elapsed, 
and then the merchant to whom his property was 
pledged, thought it best to. foreclose the mort- 
gage. The Colonel was left almost penniless in 
the world. He took to hard drinking. He drank 
as long as he could procure the means of gratify- 
ing his consuming appetite. One day, late in the 
evening as he was going to his wretched home 
in a state of intoxication, he fell from his horse, 
as the animal stopped to drink, into a little stream, 
which had however been considerably swollen by 
a rain an hour before. He was so much intoxi- 
cated that he could not help himself, and he was 
drowned. 

Poor Gerie ! she waited for some weeks hop- 
ing to hear something from her base and villain- 
ous husband. She was disposed to believe that 
he might bejaithful to her, even if he had ruined 
her father. It was a forlorn hope. The dreary 
days passed away; and the consciousness that 


FIERY TRIALS. 


515 

she was a wife deserted by an unprincipled hus- 
band drove her into despair. At last, when the 
corpse of her drunken father was brought home, 
the cumulative weight of terrible misfortunes 
could no longer be borne. She became hopelessly 
insane, and was sent to a lunatic asylum. Here 
she did not long survive the awful calamities that 
had overtaken her. She was attacked by a most 
malignant fever, and she died a raving maniac. 

When the Circuit Court met Hommie Paine 
was brought to trial. It is not necessary to 
enter into the details. The boy was sentenced 
to the penitentiary for life. The jury agreed 
upon this penalty in consideration of the fact 
that Hommie was an instrument in the hands of 
others, although he was guilty of cold-blooded 
murder. He never did make any confession, nor 
could he be induced to implicate others. 

In a few days after the trial the sheriff started 
with him to Jackson in the stage-coach. When 
they reached the Tallahatchie river they were 
met by a dozen men armed to the teeth, and 
wearing masks. They took Hommie out of the 
coach and forced the sheriff to unlock the hand- 
cuffs. The boy thus set free mounted up behind 
one of the men, and the party rode off. When 
they had gotten a mile from the river, one of the 
men took off his mask and asked Hommie if he 
knew him. It was John A. Murrell. 

^^Boy,’' said Murrell, ^^you re true grit. You 
were faithful to the last; and now you are free. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


516 

But you must get out of this country, and never 
return to it again.’’ 

Rommie was once more at liberty. He went 
with two or three of Murrell’s gang into Texas. 
In a few months, however, he was caught in the 
act of stealing a horse. The stern Texans in 
those days dealt very summarily with horse- 
thieves. Poor boy ! he was promptly hanged to 
a limb ; and again was verified a passage of 
Scripture in which there is a volume of fearful 
meaning — ^The way of transgressors is hard.” 

About ten years after Milson had left Holly 
Springs and settled in the State of Alabama, 
where he began the work of the ministry, a note 
was brought to him by a messenger, in the latter 
part of a beautiful forenoon. On opening it he 
read the following : 

Dear Sir : — A man has just been shot here ; and at his request 
I write to you. He desires earnestly to see you. He says, tell you 
it is Eugene Bertram. His wound is fatal, and in my opinion he 
cannot survive many hours. He asks me to beg you not to deny 
the request of a dying man. He seems to have something of im- 
portance to reveal to you. If you can come, you would better not 
lose a moment. Yours truly, J. H. N. Jones, M. D. 

Milson showed this missive to Junie, who af- 
ter reading it, said : 

^^Of course you will go ?” 

‘^0, yes. I must start at once. He has deeply 
wronged me ; but the Lord knows I have for- 
given him.” 

^^He has brought ruin on my family,” said 
Junie. ^^But heaven forbid that 1 should harbor 
milice anl revenge in my heart. I have long 


FIERY TRIALS. 


517 


since banished all such feelings. We are com- 
manded to love our enemies, and I try to do so.” 

^‘You are right, my dear Junie. We have 
both forgiven one who has been to us an enemy. 
But 1 have no time to lose. I must at once at- 
tend to the summons of poor Bertram. Who 
knows that he may not repent of his sins ? He 
may need advice, and perhaps I may be of ser- 
yice to him.” 

Accordingly Milson at once set out to the lit- 
tle town where it appeared Bertram lay wounded 
and dying, and which was distant about eight or 
ten miles. In about two hours he arrived at 
his destination, and stopped at an office point- 
ed out to him by the messenger. On knock- 
ing at the door Milson was met by Dr, Jones, 
with whom he was slightly acquainted. Bertram 
was in the back room of the physician s office. 
Just after the two had exchanged the usual civ- 
ilities in the front room, Milson asked : 

^HIow is your patient. Doctor ?” 

^‘There has been no perceptible change in him 
since he was wounded.” 

^Ts there no hope of his recovery?” 

^‘There is not the slightest ground on which to 
base a hope,” replied the Doctor. 

^^How did the difficulty occur ?” 

^‘We can find out very little about it. This 
stranger, who yesterday registered himself at the 
tavern as W. B. Parkhurst, was standing on the 
street alone, when a man rode up and accosted 


FIERY TRIALS. 


518 

him. They talked perhaps five minutes, so says 
a person who was looking at them some distance 
off, and the report of a pistol was heard. No one 
was very near the spot ; but several persons at a 
distance saw Parkhurst, or Bertram, or whatever 
may be his name, reel and fall to the ground ; 
and then his assailant wheeled his horse and rode 
at full speed out of town. I was called at once, 
and had the man brought here to my office. He 
was asked who shot him, hut he refused to tell. 
When I examined his wound, I informed him 
that his case was hopeless. Then he requested 
me to despatch a messenger in great haste for 
you. And this is all I can tell you. I am glad 
you are here, as the man appears exceedingly 
anxious to see you. Y'ou would better see him 
at once ; for there is no telling at what moment 
a change for the worse may occur.’’ 

The Doctor then opened the door of the back 
room, when Bertram asked in a feeble but eager 
voice : 

^‘Say, Doctor, has he come ?” 

‘^Yes sir. Here he is.” 

Then Milson approached the bed-side.. Bertram 
held out his hand which Milson grasped with the 
pressure of friendship. The very pressure con- 
veyed so much meaning that Bertram inquired : 

^Ts it possible you can forgive me ?” 

^•As the Lord knows my heart, Bertram, I 
have long since forgiven you.” 

^^Doctor,” said Bertram, ^^please leave us alone 
for a few minutes.” 


FIERY TRIALS. 51^ 

As soon as the physician had retired Bertram 
said : 

^Tt is very kind of you to come to see such a 
one as I. Yoji know I have grievously wronged 
and irreparably injured you. How is it possible 
you can forgive such a villain? 

‘‘Do not call yourself hard names on my 
account/’ said Milson, “I freely forgive, by 
God’s grace. Without that I might not have 
been able to do so. But I assure you, Bertram, that 
I have no more feeling of bitterness toward you 
than if we had never met before. 

“I remember the conversation which we had 
more than ten years ago at Col. Paine’s dinner- 
table, in regard to the existence of a personal 
God. May the God you believe in reward you 
for your charity toward one who deserves your 
eternal hatred. I did you a great wrong in that 
shameful trial — a secret wrong, Milson, which it 
will do no good to explain now. My conscience, 
or whatever it is, has rebuked me a thousand 
times for it. I regard it as one of the meanest 
tricks I ever did. But, I will say no more about 
it. The Doctor tells me I am hound to die, and 
that death may come at any moment. For fear 
that I may be snatched otf suddenly, I want to 
make some amends for the injury I have done 
you. I have upwards of fifteen thousand dollars 
which I now bequeath to you.” 

“But, Bertram,” said Milson, “I do not ask 
you to make any amends. Give it to your rela- 
tives, if you have any.” 


520 


FIERY TRIALS. 


have no relatives/’ replied Bertram, ^^that 
need it. Besides I do not want them ever to 
hear how or where I died. You do not know my 
real name and you never will. It is not Bertram. 
I would rather that you should have the money 
than any of my relatives. I cannot die satisfied 
unless you accept it. I owe much more than 
that to your wife, anyhow. It was I that ruined 
her father. So you must accept it. It is all I 
have in the world ; and I will tell you, Milson, 
every penny of it has been acquired honestly 
and honorably. It is not the profits of gambling 
nor of robbery. I have made it fairly in my 
law practice. All that I want you to do, is to 
have me decently buried, and to pay this good 
Doctor for his trouble. Will you not accept the 
gift, and thus gratify the last wishes of a dying 
man? ” 

^Tf you insist on my taking it,” replied Mil- 
son, seeing that he could not well refuse, will 
give it to Junie, since you acknowledge you owe 
her more than that.” 

^‘Thank you, my friend. Now to make all 
right, call in the Doctor for just a moment.” 

Milson did so ; and when the physician came 
in Bertram said : 

^‘Doctor, here is a belt around my waist next 
to my person. Please help me to take it off.” 

The Doctor obeyed, and in a moment drew 
forth a leathern belt which he placed in Bertram’s 
hand. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


521 

Doctor,” said Bertram, call you 
to witness that I give and bequeath this belt and 
all it contains to John Milson.. No legal process 
will he necessary. I owe no debts. Mr. Milson 
will pay you for your attention to me. Please 
leave us alone again for a few moments.” 

When the physician had gone, and Bertram 
had given the belt to Milson, he said : 

^^Tell Miss Junie to forgive me, if she possibly 
can.” 

“She has already done that,” replied Milson. 
“She said so just as I was starting to see you.” 

“Well,” said Bertram thoughtfully, “ there 
must be something noble in religion to produce 
such effects. But never mind,” he broke off 
suddenly, “I can now die much better satisfied.” 

“Why not die entirely satisfied ? ” asked Mil- 
son. “Why not implore Divine mercy and for- 
giveness even in your last hours ? The blood of 
Christ cleanseth from all sin.” 

“I have been a fool Milson,” interrupted Ber- 
tram. “I have tried to believe there is no God, 
because I knew that if there is any such l)eing, 
he is bound to punish a guilty wretch like me.” 

“But he is a merciful God,” answered Milson, 
“and he will forgive your sins, if you will only 
sincerely repent of them.” 

“It is too late, Milson, too late, even if I be- 
lieved in the existence of a God. I cannot now 
concentrate my mind on any such subject. Let 
us not talk about it if you please. It is useless.” 


$22 


FIERY TRIALS. 


you will not talk about it/' said Milson 
sorrowfully, ^^will you not tell me w^ho it was 
that assailed you, so that steps may be taken to 
arrest the man and bring him to justice ?" 

Justice,” said Bertram, ^die has done nothing 
but an act of justice in shooting me. If I had been 
in his place I would have done just as he did. No, 
Milson, I will not give his name. You know not 
what crimes I have committed ; and you will 
never know from me. Some of my secrets I will 
carry down into the grave. To reveal them 
would only make people execrate my memory. 
Say to the civil authorities here to let the man 
alone who shot me. I have no idea that there is 
anyone here who knows his name. So he will es- 
cape. I am the one who is brought to justice. I 
have no dying confession to make." 

Just at this moment Bertram was seized with 
a violent fit of coughing, and blood flowed freely 
from his mouth. Milson called the Doctor, who 
came in and did what he could for the dying 
man’s relief. In a few moments the patient be- 
came quiet. 

^^Do you wish me to retire again,” asked the 
Doctor. 

^^No, Doctor, I have said all that I wish to say. 
How much longer do you think I can live ?’’ 

^‘Not many hours more, sir. The symptoms 
which you now present are decidedly worse.’’ 

^‘Well, so be it. I am ready.” 

And Bertram lay still for perhaps ten minutes. 


FIERY TRIALS. 


523 

But it was evident that the ^^grim monster” had 
now commenced his awful work in earnest. 

‘^Milson suddenly cried Bertram with an ex- 
pression of terror depicted on his face, ^^who is 
that horrid black man standing near you ? Take 
him out ! Good heavens ! what awful eyes ! 
Milson, my friend, if you have any respect for 
me, drive him from the room.” 

^‘You are mistaken,” said Milson, “there is no 
one in the room but Dr. Jones and myself.” 

“There, it is gone. T suppose it was an optical 
illusion. Yes, that was all. But, my friend, 
shut and lock the door, if you please. Now let 
down the window, and do not allow anyone to 
come in.” 

“In a few moments Bertram cried : 

“Milson, you did not lock the door. That hor- 
rid thing has come back again ! There it is at 
the foot of the bed. Come here, Milson, take 
your seat by me. Now call on the name of your 
God.” 

“Can you not pray for yourself?” asked Mil- 
son as he moved to the bed-side. 

“I don’t know how to pray. It would be throw- 
ing words to the winds. Doctor, Doctor, put 
that cursed black thing out of the room.” 

“I assure you,” said the physician, “there is 
nothing in the room.” 

“Strange, you can’t see it,” muttered Bertram. 
“That is no optical illusion. Oh, God ! what an 
unearthly expression.” 


524 FIERY TRIALS. 

Bertram closed his eyes. After a moment he 
asked : 

^Ts he gone ?” 

Then he opened his eyes. 

^^No, there he is at the door. Doctor/^ he 
said, sinking his voice to a whisper, ^^give me 
my pistol. I will shoot the black rascal. Quick, 
quick. Doctor, my pistol.” 

^‘You do not need a pistol,” replied the physi- 
cian. ^^Close your eyes.” 

Bertram obeyed, and for some time . lay still 
with his eyes tightly closed. 

‘^Do you see anything now ?” inquired the 
physician. 

^^No. But it is so dark — Oh ! it is thick dark- 
ness. Give me your hand, Milson. I feel that 
I am about to fall. I must open my eyes. I 
can’t stand this terrible darkness.” 

Again he opened his eyes and stared wildly. 

^‘Look ! ” he cried, ‘There is that same horrid 
thing — and there is another — Yes, two. Milson, 
they are fiends come to take me to hell. I never 
believed there is such a place— but those two black 
things stare at me with their horrid stony eyes. 
Doctor! for heaven’s sake, give me my pistol — 
they are moving toward me 1 ” 

“Shut your eyes,” said the Doctor. 

“Oh! it is so dark — dark — dark 1 can’t 

stand it. I am not afraid of anything— I will 
open my eyes. Oh, you hateful dogs ! how dare 
you stand at my bed-side in that impudent way ? 


FIERY TRIALS. 


525 


I will endure it no longer. I can whip both of 
you—and I will do it.” 

Saying this, Bertram, before Milson and the 
physician were aware of his intentions, made a 
sudden spring with all his strength, which placed 
him out of their reach. He made for the door 
which he struck with a tremendous blow of his 
fist, then fell flat on his back. The blood gushed 
through his mouth, and in a moment he was 
strangled. 

^^He is dead,” said the Doctor feeling for the 
pulse, ^^and may God save me from ever witness- 
ing such another death. Mr. Milson, this is no 
common man. Who is he, and what has he done ? 
You seem to have known him.” 

^^Yes. I became acquainted with him some 
years ago. He has a history, Doctor, which I do 
not feel at liberty to reveal. He is now in the 
hands of God, and there let us leave him. If you 
will not think me rude I will answer no ques- 
tions in regard to his history— a part of which 
only is known to me. I will ask you to make 
the necessary preparations for his funeral. He 
must be buried decently; and I will pay all the 
charges. I must now return home. I will be 
back to-morrow, and will pe-rform the funeral ser- 
vice myself.” 

The physician promised to attend to all the ar- 
rangements for the interment, and then Milson 
left. But the next morrxing he came back in his 
buggy accompanied by Junie. About three 


526 FIERY TRIALS. 

o’clock the remains of Bertram were taken to the 
grave. Milson made some remarks appropriate 
to the occasion; but he gave not a word of Ber- 
tram’s history, to the great disappointment of 
those present. That evening he and his wife 
went back home, leaving the inhabitants of the 
little town wondering who was the stranger that 
had so suddenly and mysteriously found a rest- 
ing place in their midst. 

Some months afterwards a marble slab was 
seen over the stranger’s grave, and the passer-by 
saw only this inscription : 

HERE LIES ONE 
WHOSE NAME WILL NEVER 
BE KNOWN TILL THE 
LAST DAY. 

Milson and Junie lived and loved and labored 
for many years in the State of Alabama, and then 
it so happened that neither mourned at the other’s 
funeral. For they died within an hour of each 
other, and their remains were deposited in the 
same grave. Let their ashes rest in peace till on 
the resurrection morn they are reunited with the 
principle of Life. Then, gentle reader, you and 
I will be there. After our long, long sleep in the 
silent city of the dead we will come forth at the 
call of the last trump as its loud, terrible blasts 
echo over land and sea, and we will stand before 
the great White Throne, and we will hear sen- 
tence pronounced on every individual of the hu- 
man race. In your case what shall the sentence 
be? 


FIERY TRIALS. 


527 


And now reader, our story is ended. A few 
words before we part. Are you skeptical ? If so, 
we have endeavored in these pages to point out 
as we conceive, the proper method of investiga- 
ting the evidences of the Christian Religion. 
Read the books to which your attention has been 
directed. It is in vain to attempt to make the 
Holy Scriptures and Geology and other sciences 
antagonize. There are certain great and stubborn 
facts attested by credible witnesses ; such being 
the case, no science can destroy them, and no rea- 
soning of men can shake them. We may as well 
try to prove by Geology that Julius Caesar never 
lived on earth as to attempt to subvert the facts 
of Christianity by the same or a similar process. 
A proper investigation will terminate in a well- 
grounded belief that the Bible is the revealed 
Word of God. Wo, to the man that rejects it! He is 
in a world without hope. He is drifting about in an 
ocean, with no polar star to guide him. He is 
groping in darkness and gloom ; he will live in 
doubt and die in despair. Then skeptical reader 
be not satisfied in your awful condition. Go to 
work ! Investigate I Investigate ! The golden mo- 
ments of your life are rapidly passing away. Soon 
your mortal career will come to an end. There is 
no time to be lost. If you have doubts in regard to 
the Divine origin of the Bible, I entreat you in 
the name of the Everlasting God, investigate ! 
INVESTIGATE!! 






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